A Courage of Heart
by Bubble Wrapped Kitty
Summary: Neville Longbottom had always known that he had a different sort of bravery than his fellow Gryffindors, but will it be enough to help him stand up against his most dangerous opponent yet: Love. Post DH, NL/HA
1. A Chance Meeting

Disclaimer: To my greatest misfortune, I am not JKR. Awh well, a girl can dream...

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A warm summer wind was blowing down the alley, making the hanging signs outside the many shops swing joyfully. The road was crowded with people, bustling from shop to shop with their bags bulging or standing in clusters and chatting loudly. It looked like a normal enough scene, even if the place was as far from normal as it was possible to be. The place was Diagon Alley, and it was the main shopping street for the wizarding community in Britain.

Midway up the busy street, the door to a potioneer's shop flew open as a man stumbled through the frame. He collided with a barrel of fresh dragon dung on the walk in front of the apothecary next door and barely managed to regain his footing in time to prevent himself from going headfirst into the barrel's smelly contents. His round face turning a brilliant crimson, the man straightened up and picked up the carefully packaged parcel he had dropped by the door, answering the owner's questions with a mumbled, "I'm fine, just tripped."

Fixing his robes, the man headed off up the street in a more graceful way than his exit from the shop, carefully cradling the vial wrapped in the shopping bag. He was a pleasant looking man, with a thatch of blonde hair, pale eyes, and a perpetually pink-tinged face that was marred only by a few white scars that carved through his round cheeks and forehead. The man's name was Neville Longbottom, and the scars were the only indicators that he had once been a hero before settling into an easier life.

"Hiya, Professor!"

Neville looked around at the voice and spotted a cluster of teenagers outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. He recognized a young girl with a long brown plait, who would be going into her fourth year at Hogwarts and belonged to his own house, Gryffindor.

"Hello, Miss Towler," replied Neville, smiling and offering a short wave before returning his hand to his parcel. She called a "See ya tomorrow," after him as he continued down the street.

Tomorrow. September first, the day that Neville always looked forward to and dreaded in equal measure, just as much now as he had when he was a teen. It meant the return to Hogwarts castle where he served as Herbology teacher and, starting this year, the Head of Gryffindor House. After three years he had been settled into his teaching career, but he couldn't deny that this new position had him feeling just as nervous as he'd been before starting his very first lesson. _Pull it together, Neville, you fought in the greatest wizarding war in history. They're just kids._

Feeling slightly better, he strode into The Leaky Cauldron and glanced at the fireplace. There was already a large crowd around it, and he could hear a mother instructing a large brood of children who were apparently returning home after their shopping day. Watching them made him think of the Weasleys and he smiled faintly. _I should visit them soon, _he thought the large group meant it could be a while before he could Floo back to his office in Hogwarts, and this was only made clearer as a series of people stepped out of the fireplace, interrupting the family's attempts at leaving.

Neville sighed but sat down at the bar and placed his package carefully on the smooth surface. He could see the landlady, although she had her back to him, so he called, "I'll have a butterbeer, please."

"Right away, sir," the woman said over her shoulder, not turning away from the glasses she was cleaning. A moment later she had retrieved a bottle from beneath the counter and turned to hand it to him, but froze, her eyes wide. "Neville?"

Neville stared at the woman's face for a long minute, taking in her soft cheeks, round eyes, and long blonde hair, before it finally registered. "Hannah?"

Hannah Abbot beamed as she set the butterbeer on the counter in front of him and wiped her hands on her apron. "Wow, Neville, I –" But she trailed off as a squabble suddenly broke out by the fireplace. It seemed the mother, irate that the newcomers were waylaying her broods departure, had cast a Tickling Charm on the lot, and they were now shouting profanities at her between explosions of laughter. Hannah rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. "Sorry, I'll be right back."

Neville watched as she stormed around the bar, shouting at the woman and pulling out her own wand to perform the countercurse. To say that it had been a surprise to run into Hannah was a bit of an understatement. He hadn't heard from many of his old schoolmates since they'd left Hogwarts, except for Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and, on rare occasions, Luna, when she wasn't out hunting for Crackle-Haired Snarkilarks, or whatever they were called. He couldn't remember having seen Hannah since their final year when she'd been forced to return because of the Death Eaters. She'd joined the reformed DA, but they hadn't actually spoken much. There hadn't been much time for pleasantries or idle chat that year.

Looking at her now, it was clear that she had changed a lot since school. Her hair, which had always been in pigtails, was now twisted back into a hap-hazard knot on the back of her head, probably to keep it out of her way. There was something mature and confident in her stance, although her expression still maintained some of the sweet temperament and kindness that she had been noted for. He also couldn't help but notice that she certainly had – he blushed just thinking it – a more womanly shape then he remembered her having.

The dispute being settled, Hannah returned to the bar, smiling, and she leaned against the counter opposite him, although he could see she was keeping an eye on the fireplace and she hadn't yet put away her wand. "It's great to see you, Neville," said Hannah, cheerfully. "How are you doing?"

"Wonderful," answered Neville and was happy to admit that he was being truthful. There had been plenty of times in the past when he'd been fairly miserable but he had grown into his own since then and was now quite content with his lot. "So you work here now?"

"I own it," said Hannah, proudly. "Tom was looking to retire and I bought it from him. What about you? I heard you were working for the Ministry."

"I was for a while," said Neville. "I was an Auror, helped to track down some of the last Death Eaters, but once things started to settle down I quit. Ministry work never suited me. Now I'm teaching at Hogwarts."

Hannah smiled again. "Herbology?" she asked and Neville nodded. "I thought so. You were always top of our year in that class." Neville felt his ears burn and, not knowing what else to do, took a sip of his butterbeer. "I bet you make a great teacher. I remember how you led the DA our seventh year. That was very brave of you." He felt her eyes lingering over the scars on his cheek. _I wonder if this is how Harry felt._

"So," he started, wanting to change the subject, "have you seen anyone else from school?"

"Oh – yeah, I have," said Hannah, quickly coming back to the conversation. "I see them coming through here all the time. Ernie was in here just yesterday, and a few days ago Seamus and Lavender came through." This set them off into a long conversation about their old classmates, and memories from school, only interrupted when Hannah had to help another patron or when Neville occasionally talked with students as they filed past with their shopping. Their stories gradually shifted from old memories to sharing new ones, and before he knew it, they were exchanging tales by lamp light as night settled outside the inn.

"And the puffapod ricocheted off the ceiling and hit this little first year boy in the chest, and he fell back into my _mimbulus_ _mimbletonia_. Covered the whole class in stinksap." As Hannah erupted into laughter, Neville watched her, smiling. It felt good to know that he was the one to put that smile on her face. He had never really been considered funny; most of the time when he made people laugh it was because he'd fallen over something or magicked his nose on to a teapot and the spout onto his face (he had smelled stale tea for months afterward and it had taken a half year before the steam stopped streaming from his nostrils every time he felt warm.) But here he was, telling stories that were making a pretty young woman laugh _with_ him.

"Oh that must have been terrible to clean," said Hannah, and as she did her hand brushed his on the countertop. Neville felt a strange, swooping sensation deep in his stomach and wondered if he was getting ill. That was the third or fourth time it had happened tonight.

"Bloody nightmare," he agreed. "Took almost an hour to get everyone cleaned and get it off the other plants." He blushed slightly as he added, "I never have been handy with cleaning charms."

"Neither was I," Hannah admitted with an airy laugh. "That was always my mum's talent." Even though she was still smiling, Neville recognized the expression under her eyes. It had been all over the school when she'd been pulled out during their sixth year after her mother had been murdered by Death Eaters. He also remembered the spark that had filled her eyes when she'd rejoined the DA the next year; it was the same burning intensity that had propelled him, the desire to thwart those who had ruined families like their own.

"Grandmum banned me from doing them," Neville said with a shy grin, trying to lighten the conversation. "I was trying to scrub the dishes once and instead I ended up spending the evening chasing down the pans as they flew 'round and knocked into things. I guess after that she decided it was just easier to do them herself so she didn't have to clean up my mess."

Hannah was smiling brightly again and Neville managed to not blush too brilliantly at the memory. They slipped back into easier talk until Hannah suddenly yawned behind her hand. Surprised, Neville glanced around and saw that they were alone in the dark pub, and a quick look at his watch told him it was after one in the morning.

"Merlin's shorts!" he exclaimed. "I didn't realize it was that late. I'm sorry; you probably want to go to bed."

"Oh, no, it's fine," said Hannah, waving the hand not hiding another yawn dismissively. "I've enjoyed talking to you."

"I really should let you get to sleep," said Neville, standing up. "Besides, I've got to get back to the castle. The Venomous Tentacula has got some really awful hives and I've got to get this potion on it before it snags one of the students and passes them on."

"Alright then," said Hannah, smiling. She followed him as he walked back to the fireplace and they stood in front of it, all of the casualness of their conversations forgotten as they awkwardly stared at each other. "It really was wonderful to see you, Neville," said Hannah suddenly, as though she were rushing to get it out before she lost her nerve. "And, you know, you're welcome to come by any time you feel and chat, if you want."

"Thanks," said Neville. "I had a great time today." He offered a hand and Hannah shook it, smiling up at him beneath rosy cheeks. When she'd released him, he turned to the fireplace but he'd hardly lifted a hand to the pot on the mantle when Hannah shouted, "Neville!"

Turning on his heel, he saw Hannah bustling back from the counter. In her arms she was cradling his parcel. "Oh, thanks," he said, his ears flooding with warmth. "That would've been a bugger if I'd left without it." She handed him the package and he took it, his stomach swooping again as his hands touched hers in the transfer. "Well, good night then," he said, still feeling foolish and awkward.

Hannah seemed to be considering him for a moment and in the next she had thrown her arms around him in a hasty hug that he barely had time to return before she'd pulled away. "Good night," she said, a bit breathlessly.

Feeling faintly light-headed, Neville grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossed it onto the low flames and said, "Professor Longbottom's office at Hogwarts," into the suddenly roaring sweep of green flames. He caught one last glance of Hannah's soft smile and flushed cheeks before he was sucked up behind the mantle. His eyes were firmly shut as he spun wildly through the grates, and he staggered slightly on landing in his office. He stepped onto the rug, dusting ash from his robes, before walking out into the castle. He needed to get to the greenhouses and administer the potion to the Venomous Tentacula so it would hopefully be cleared up by the time he had his first lesson in Greenhouse Three.

As he stepped out onto the front steps of Hogwarts, he stopped to take in the grounds in the darkness. It had never ceased to amaze him just how beautiful the castle and its grounds were, even though he had spent a great deal of time on them in the last fifteen years. The grass was black in twilight, and the smooth surface of the lake reflected the quarter moon. The gamekeeper's hut was issuing a thin stream of smoke from where it perched in front of the shadowy forests, and a few metres away from the lake's edge he could just make out the gleaming white marble resting place of Hogwarts' greatest headmaster.

Just as it did every time, the sight of Dumbledore's tomb filled Neville with awe and, oddly enough, courage. There was no denying that Dumbledore had been a man with courage beyond what a normal human should possess, and his bravery wasn't just one of strength, but one of spirit as well. Much like the singular type of bravery that Neville had held all along, before he'd weilded a sword against the pet of the darkest wizard of all time. The bravery that had led him to stand up to Malfoy because he'd felt faith in what his friends had told him, and that had later that year led to him standing up for what he felt was right against those same friends. A courage of heart. A small smile slipped over his face. "I may have to make another trip to Diagon Alley very soon," he said aloud in the shadows, before starting off for the greenhouses.


	2. The Invitation

Snow had fallen heavy over Hogwarts and as November came to a close there was a strong feel of Christmas in the air. Garlands of holly were strung through the halls, carols erupted sporadically from suits of armor, and the Great Hall had, as always, been filled with its customary twelve Christmas trees. Snowmen spotted the grounds, some of them enchanted by older students to hurl snowballs at anyone who passed them, and the more adventurous students could sometimes be seen sliding across the frozen surface of the Black Lake.

Neville had been in the greenhouses most of the morning, fitting scarves onto some of the more finicky plants. He paused every few minutes and pulled out the scroll he'd received that morning. It was an invitation to the Potters' annual Christmas Eve party. Neville had attended every year, and he had full intentions of going this year so that wasn't the concern. There was something else about the invitation that had him so distracted. Once again his eyes found the first line of green calligraphy.

_Neville Longbottom and Guest_

... _and_ _Guest_. It was written there every year, but until now he had always ignored it as a formality and had shown up alone. It wasn't as if he had anyone to take anyway; He'd never had much luck with women and his romantic history was an empty cauldron. He had once fancied himself in love with Hermione Granger, but it hadn't taken long for him to realize that his affection for her was mainly gratitude at repeatedly saving his skin in Potions class. He had harboured a crush on Ginny Weasley for a while, but then again so had nearly every other boy who met her. During his seventh year he had grown rather fond of Luna Lovegood, but her eccentricities stopped that relationship from developing into anything beyond friendship. But now –

Not a week had gone by that Neville hadn't visited the Leaky Cauldron since his first run in with Hannah. For the first month he had made excuses, pretending he was only coming through while shopping, but it didn't take long before he dropped all pretences. Every time he visited, he and Hannah stayed up late into the night talking. There was no doubt in his heart that he was exceedingly fond of her. His only doubt: her feelings for him.

Sighing, Neville tucked the scrolled back into his breast pocket and began fitting fuzzy mittens onto the feelers of the Venomous Tentacula. It was Sunday and he intended to go to the Leaky Cauldron that afternoon. Perhaps he'd ask her then...

But he didn't ask her that night, or the following Wednesday. He came close several times, but his nerves always failed him at the last moment. Christmas was now only a week away and Neville was starting to panic. He spent most of the morning talking to his _mimbulus_ _mimbletonia_, practicing what to say, and reading the invitation so many times that the scroll lay flat, as if there might be some useful tip hidden within the emerald ink.

Finally at half past two, Neville tucked the invitation back into his breast pocket and washed the fertilizer from his hands. He trudged back up to the castle through the knee-deep snow that blanketed the grounds, shivering before he'd gone a full yard. In the earlier months he had commonly walked to Hogsmeade and Disapparated from there, mostly to avoid the discomfort of whirling through a series of fireplaces surrounded by hot ash. However with the thick chill that covered him now, the idea of travelling wrapped in the warm flames was too enticing to miss, even if it meant nausea-inducing spinning and the added risk of skinning his elbows on the inside of chimneys again.

He took a quick glance at himself in the mirror before moving to the fireplace. His hair was laying at funny angles after being trapped beneath his cap all morning, and his face was unnaturally pink from the wintery chill. There was a spot of dirt along his jaw that he had tried desperately to wash away but to little avail. Giving his appearance up as a rather lost cause, he tossed a pinch of glittery powder into the fire, stated "The Leaky Cauldron," and then stepped into the pleasantly warm green flames. His stomach churned as he was sucked up the Floo passage and he fought to keep down the breakfast that his nerves had already threatened to expel.

"Hi Neville!" called Hannah, the moment he'd stumbled out of the grate. She smiled cheerily at him from the middle of the room as she handed a stumpy wizard dressed in brilliantly blue robes what looked like a glass of firewhiskey. Neville dusted off his robes and then went to meet her at the bar, taking his usual seat near the end of the row. "How have you been? Oh, you've got a spot of dirt there by your chin." Before Neville could do anything about it, she'd pulled a handkerchief from her waistband and gently grabbed his chin with the other hand. She rubbed the spot from his burning face and gave him a small nod, smiling. "That's better," she said, tucking the cloth into her belt again. "It's been a while since the last time you were here. Busy?"

"Terribly," agreed Neville, trying to regain the calm he'd lost. His skin still felt like it was tingling where she'd touched, as though there were little electric charges in each spot a fingertip had graced. "Trying to get everything situated for the break, find out what of my students are staying for Christmas. I can't tell you how relieved I am that the holidays have begun."

"It's getting busier than ever in here," said Hannah and not two seconds later she was called away by another patron. Neville looked around and realized that the shabby pub did indeed seem more crowded than usual, and there was an increased flow of wizards going to and from Diagon Alley. People doing their Christmas shopping, he reasoned. Merlin knew he had enough shopping of his own he still needed to finish.

Hannah returned and she spent much of the next hour telling tales of some of her stranger patrons, being interrupted every few minutes by her work. Several times Neville came close to asking her to the party, only to be diverted as another client stole her attention. They maintained their broken conversation throughout the remainder of the afternoon, and it was nearly eight o'clock before business had slowed enough for them to have ten minutes of unbroken talking. By this time Neville was feeling rather disheartened by his repeatedly failed attempts at inviting her and was ready to take it as a sign that he should give up. Maybe another time.

"I'm sorry this has been such a hectic visit," said Hannah as she returned once again to where he sat. With a weary sigh, she took the stool beside his instead of moving around to the other side of the bar as she usually did.

"Oh, no, I understand," said Neville, hastily. "You're working. I suppose I really shouldn't be bothering you at work like this."

"But I enjoy it," said Hannah and she looked up at him with bright eyes. "I always look forward to your visits, I love talking with you. Even if it _is_ constantly interrupted." Neville felt his heart swelling in his chest as if someone had put an Engorgement Charm on it. She looked forward to seeing him, to spending her whole day talking to him. Perhaps not all hope was lost.

"I've been talking all about myself today, haven't I?" asked Hannah, giving a tired sort of chuckle. "I'm sorry. It's been a trying day, I guess I've forgotten my manners. How have the holidays been for you?"

Smiling, Neville told her about a disastrous lesson with bubotubers, and the extra work he'd had to do as Head of House. "Collecting names for the students remaining for Christmas was a chore, I must say," said Neville, shaking his head. "I don't remember seeing McGonagall have that much of a time with it. I had a pair of first years who forgot to put their names down on the list, and they woke up yesterday morning in a panic because their trunks had been magicked down to the station. By the time they found me to inform me, the train had already left. I had to send owls to the conductor and he Apparated back to the school with their trunks. Poor bloke dragged them all the way back up to the castle too, I couldn't believe it."

"What a disaster," remarked Hannah, shaking her head and laughing quietly. "I hope they learned their lesson."

"If they did not then, they will once they've finished helping me mix fertilizer when the term begins again," said Neville with a slightly devious, albeit bashful, grin. Hannah giggled appreciatively, and was then summoned to refill the firewhiskey for the stout, blue-clad wizard.

"I've been so busy I haven't even had time to think about the holiday," said Hannah when she'd returned to his side. "It's hard to believe it's only a week away. Do you have plans for Christmas?"

Neville's stomach flipped over. This was it, the perfect moment. A sudden bout of nerves swept over him and he realized that his hands had begun trembling. _C'mon Neville,_ he thought to himself frantically. _You spat in the face of Lord Voldemort, but you can't do this? Be a Gryffindor._ "Actually," he started, clearing his throat, "I'm going to a Christmas Eve party at Harry and Ginny's."

"Oh really?" asked Hannah, eyes widening slightly as they always did when she was curious. "That sounds like fun."

"Yeah," said Neville lamely. He felt his cheeks burn and he cleared his throat again. "And I was wondering if – well if maybe – you might want to come with me? If you don't have other plans of course, and I'd understand if you wouldn't. You're probably terribly busy, I shouldn't have asked, I suppose, but I –"

"I'd love to," said Hannah. Her cheery response cut across his rambling and for a moment Neville could only stare at her in surprise. She'd said yes? He blinked a few times and managed to croak, "You will?"

"Of course," she said and her smile was radiant. Neville's pulsing heart seemed to suddenly become feather-light and it felt as though it was trying to soar straight up out of him. He'd done it, he'd asked her to go to the party with him. And, miraculously, she had agreed. For the first time since the Yule Ball, Neville had a _date_.

"Brilliant," he answered, just a little dazed. Hannah laughed again and, after a moment of silently smiling at each other, she nudged the conversation back into life. Neville felt lighter than he had since the invitation had arrived and he laughed more readily at their jokes. When they parted that night, with a habitual hug, Hannah had placed a quick peck on his cheek. As Neville climbed out of his fireplace minutes later, he was certain that Christmas could not come fast enough.


	3. An Awkward Distraction

Neville was anxiously rearranging the contents of his desk for the third time that day. He had already made a trip up to Gryffindor Tower to check that the sixteen remaining students were not causing too much havoc, been to the greenhouses to see to his plants, and been to lunch, although he'd hardly eaten anything. Now he was holed up in his office with nothing to distract him from the fact that in less than three hours he would be going to meet Hannah for the Christmas Eve party. As he moved a stack of quills from the right-hand drawer to the left, he was quite certain he had never felt so nervous in his life.

When the reorganization had been completed once again, Neville stood and paced to the opposite end of the office, groaning. He was going to drive himself mad waiting. Leaving his office, he began aimlessly wandering the corridors. It was something to do, but it unfortunately didn't stop his mind from worrying. A new, anxious thought came to him with every breath. What if he made a fool of himself and she laughed? What if he was so nervous when he arrived she changed her mind? Decided she didn't want to be seen with such a bumbling git? What if she saw he was not always as brave as the war had once made him, and decided she was no longer interested? What if her acceptance was only a joke?

Neville shook his head, knowing that these thoughts were ridiculous. It was almost amusing what the attentions of one woman could do to the self-confidence he had so steadily built up over the years. Of course, she wasn't just some woman. That much Neville was quite sure of. Hopeful for a diversion that would stop the frantic theories, he made his way to the staff room on the chance that he might find someone to chat with.

"You look a little faint there, laddie," one of the gargoyles commented as he approached the door.

"What's the matter?" the second one asked with mock concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost." At this Professor Binns floated through the wall a few feet to the left and both of the stone guardians erupted into laughter. Neville ignored them, well used to their heckling by now. They never seemed to respect him quite as much as the other teachers, but then he was the youngest professor by nearly a decade. Respect would come with time, he reckoned. Instead he crossed the remaining two steps to the door and pushed it open.

"Neville, m'boy!"

Had he not been so desperate for conversation, Neville would have instantly made excuses to leave the room. Instead he gritted his teeth in a false smile and turned to the familiar voice at the other end of the room. The large mass that was Horace Slughorn seemed to be overflowing the armchair nearest the staff room fire, light glimmering off his balding pate. He looked much like he had when Neville had been one of his students, from the walrus moustache to the velvet smoking jacket, although there were more lines in his face and his protrudent belly was, remarkably, even larger.

"Hello, Horace," said Neville. It had taken a long time to feel comfortable working alongside his former teachers, and it was still slightly disconcerting being equals with people whom he'd been handing homework in to less than a decade ago.

"Come, fill a chair," said Slughorn, gesturing to the chair across from him. Neville took a breath, and reminded himself it was necessary to prevent worrying himself into the ground, before settling into the armchair. "Crystalized pineapple?" asked Slughorn, and when Neville shook his head he placed the box back onto his stomach, as if its mass was a table. "Harry's just sent it to me as a Christmas gift. You know Harry Potter, of course." Neville couldn't help but feel exasperated as he nodded. "Always knew he'd amount to greatness, that one. Of course we all did, I imagine. Being the Boy Who Lived, and things like that. Still, he never forgets his old professor. Or my favourite sweets." Looking particularly smug, Slughorn popped another piece of pineapple into his mouth.

Neville fought against the urge to sigh. Not even a full minute into the conversation and Slughorn had already set in on his usual monologue of successful former students. Perhaps this would be less effective at keeping him distracted than he'd thought; he had heard it all so many times his mind would be quite free to wander. Either that or he'd be bored to sleep within minutes.

"He and Ms. Weasley are a smart match, aren't they?" Slughorn continued. "I always liked her. She had a lot of spirit; reminds me so much of Harry's mother, Lily. It's no wonder Harry's so drawn to her. Just like his father, he is. And I'm sure his little tyke will be just like him too. You'll find out in a few years, won't you, when you'll be teaching him. I won't, of course. I fancy I'll be retired by then. I think this may be my last year here."

Neville seriously doubted this. Slughorn had fancied that he'd retire every year, but it had yet to happen. Neville was certain the Potions Master would be at Hogwarts until he died. It wouldn't even be surprising if he came back as a ghost to haunt the castle, so he could continue hand-picking out those students who showed promise even after he'd died. The name "Dead Slug Club" quite abruptly flashed through Neville's mind and he had to bite his lip to stop him laughing.

"You know, I always saw more for you than teaching," said Slughorn suddenly, eyeing Neville as though he were a piece of his precious candied pineapple. "All that you did at school, and I think it'll be hard to forget the things you did during the war. Got yourself into a fair number of battles during your years here, didn't you? Never a big fight you weren't a part of, as I hear it. And standing up to You-Know-Who like that. You've got more of your parents in you than most give you credit for, I'd say."

Neville repressed the desire to point out that Slughorn had never fancied him as much before the war, and had rejected him from his club for not being quite as good as his parents had been. Although this all was keeping his mind from the party, the conversation wasn't much for making him feel better. He started searching around for some way to leave.

"Your parents were quite admirable," Slughorn resumed, not noticing Neville's discomfort. "Wonderful Aurors, best of their time. I always thought you may become an Auror like them."

"I did, for a while," Neville reminded him, as it seemed he did almost every time he spoke to Slughorn. "But there isn't much need for Aurors anymore, is there, with so many of the Death Eaters put away now?"

"Why come to Hogwarts though?" pressed Slughorn, catching Neville by surprise. This was an angle he'd never used before. "Why not stay on in the Ministry? I have an excellent contact in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Just up your alley, I'd say. Say the word and I could get you a position there."

"I like teaching," Neville said, firmly enough to dictate that he was done talking about it. He was well aware of Slughorn's ability to pull strings in the Ministry. Neville briefly found himself wondering how many boxes of crystallized pineapple it would take for him to become Minister of Magic, and couldn't stop himself from shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Yes, yes, of course," said Slughorn. "Teaching is an honourable position, isn't it? Nothing greater than being able to influence these young minds." Although Neville felt Slughorn may take that privilege just a tad too literally, he had to agree that it was certainly a satisfying perk to the job. There were two students in particular that Neville was fond of, seeing in them a little of himself and knowing just how to help them just as Professor Sprout had always known how to do with him.

"It must be rather a shame though, a young spry lad like yourself locked up in this castle all the time with your lessons," said Slughorn, quite out of the blue. "You don't get out much, do you?"

"I see my friends often enough," answered Neville, a little furtively. His new comfort with talking to his former professors did not extend far into talking about his personal life, and any of it was less so with Horace Slughorn.

Slughorn's wispy eyebrows raised and he smiled in a knowing way. "Of course, of course," he said and paused to lick sugar from his pudgy fingers. "Still, it's a shame, an eligible young man like yourself locked up in this castle all the time, you should be out romancing those young ladies. Or do you do that already? I hear you've been leaving the castle quite a lot." He grinned and gave roguish wink.

Neville felt the colour rising in his neck and ears, and he tried to cover it up with a laugh, which came out rather airy and forced. He glanced at his watch and felt something simultaneously leap and flip over in his chest. He now had only a half-hour till he was supposed to meet Hannah. Grateful for any excuse to get away from the awkward conversation, he stood up. "Sorry, Horace, but I must be going," he said, straightening his robes. "I'm attending a party tonight and if I don't hurry I'll be late."

"Oh, surely," said Slughorn and he had already returned his entire attention to his box of sweets. Neville walked briskly out of the room and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"Well look at that," the first gargoyle said loudly, "he must have seen a bit too much sun in there, mate. He went in white and came out red!"

"Oh shove it, you," said Neville, irritably. The gargoyles' laughter was ringing behind him as he walked back to his office and shut himself into its safe confines again. His talk with Slughorn had done nothing at all to ease his nerves; it seemed that they were determined to make up for their momentary absence by being doubly active now. Hoping that the activity of preparing might give him some reprieve, he launched himself into cleaning and dressing. Within fifteen minutes he was ready and he settled down at his desk to pass the remaining time.

His mind was still whirring from his conversation with Slughorn. He felt no shame when he thought of his parents any longer. He had never been ashamed of them, but he had always felt terrible that he could not live up to their legacy. The escape of Bellatrix Lestrange from Azkaban in his fifth year, while a horrible thing in itself, had in a way been a wonderful turning point for Neville. Having something to fight against, something that felt fully real to him in a way that the threat of Voldemort never had, had helped him in ways unimaginable. He was quite certain that he had made his parents proud, or would have if they were lucid enough to know what he'd been telling them.

No, what had him worried now was their final topic of conversation. He held no doubts at all that his abrupt departure after Slughorn's comment, not to mention his obvious lack of response, would only serve to fuel the older man's fire. It would be a miracle if rumours of his secret love were not all over the school by the time he returned in the evening. The part that had him most flustered was that this theory was not entirely a false one.

He decided he couldn't handle waiting any longer. If he stayed in his office for the remaining seven minutes until he was supposed to meet Hannah, he would need a Calming Draught to survive it. Wrapping himself in a cloak to avoid getting soot on his dress robes, he tossed the powder into the fire, said, "The Leaky Cauldron," and stepped into the grate. A minutes' wretched, disorienting spinning later, he was staggering out into the main room of the pub.

There was a row of people sitting at the bar, some talking to their neighbours and others looking very sullen and alone, as well as a boisterously loud table of wizards and witches in the centre of the room. Most of them cast curious glances at him, and Neville recognized a face or two at the bar who he'd seen on his frequent trips, but within seconds they had all returned to their drinks.

"Hello there, Professor," called a young boy from behind the bar.

"Evening, Lionel," said Neville in return, taking off his cloak and dusting ash from his trouser legs. The boy was a former student of his who had graduated the year prior, and Neville had recently learned that he was a distant cousin of Hannah's. She had hired him to help her tend the inn on busier days and to occasionally run the place when she was sick or had to be away.

"Auntie Hannah's in the back," said Lionel, gesturing over his shoulder at a door tucked in the corner. "Still getting ready, I think. She said for you to just go on through."

"Thanks," said Neville, feeling his nerves flaring up again. He walked around behind the bar and approached the door tentatively. He had never been into Hannah's private rooms before; they had always stayed out in the barroom to talk. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was a pleasant place, subtle and comfortable. He was in what looked like a small sitting room, with a slightly worn looking sofa and a bookshelf opposite a small fireplace. There was a grandfather clock in one corner and a large pot of Dancing Daffodils in another, their stems bending as the brightly coloured flowers swayed of their own accord. Either end of the room sported a door; one was open and a small kitchen painted in sunny yellow was visible, while the other, presumably leading to her bedroom, was closed.

"Neville, is that you?" called Hannah's voice from behind the door.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm a bit early," said Neville, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"Oh, no, it's fine," said Hannah's voice and it was a testament to how much time he'd been spending with her that he could tell she was now smiling. "I'll be out in just a moment."

Neville took another deep breath and then sat down on the couch, perched on the edge of the cushion anxiously. He couldn't seem to stop twisting his hands in his lap, turning his fingers bright red from the friction, and he fought to keep himself calm. His irrational thoughts of Hannah laughing at him had not yet fled and now he could hear a cold, taunting laugh in his head and saw Hannah standing before him, smirking wickedly and pointing a wand at him. He instantly shook himself because he realized the expression his mind had put onto Hannah's face had belonged to another woman entirely, one whom he saw only in his most frightening nightmares. His Hannah was kind and sweet, and was most certainly nothing like that twisted Death Eater.

_His_ Hannah. That thought made his chest warm and he had to admit he liked the sound of it. Maybe, if all went well tonight, just maybe someday...

The sound of a doorknob turning made Neville fly to his feet and a moment later the left-hand door opened. For several long seconds he could only stare at the figure framed there and finally he let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding, a single word embedded in the exhale.

"Blimey..."


	4. Potter Place

"Blimey?" Hannah stepped further into the room, now looking extremely nervous. "Was that a good blimey, or a bad blimey?"

"You look – amazing," said Neville. And she did. She was wearing a dress of subtle violet, with narrow shoulders and a modest neckline that still exposed a deal of milky white skin. Her long hair had been curled and cascaded in waves down her back. Small diamonds glittered from her ears and the hollow of her throat. At his response she had smiled and a cheery flush crept across her cheeks. Neville felt dizzy and light-headed at the very sight of her; a few seconds later he realized this was mainly because he'd forgotten to breathe.

"Thanks," said Hannah, still smiling shyly. "I was afraid I might be overdressed, I wasn't really sure what to wear. This is fine then?"

"You look amazing," repeated Neville and then blushed when he realized what he'd done. "And Merlin, I sound like a bloody git. Sorry."

"No, it's alright," said Hannah, hastily, and she seemed to be far more relaxed as she walked toward him. It suddenly occurred to Neville that it seemed Hannah had been as afraid of his reaction, as he had been of hers. This made him feel much better. "You look very charming as well," added Hannah and he felt her eyes panning over him.

"Thanks," mumbled Neville, although a second later he spotted a streak of gray ash on his sleeve and set about rubbing it away. After this the pair of them stood in silence, staring at each other and both shifting uncertainly. Neville felt as though he had been transported back in time into the body of his awkward, teen self. _She said yes,_ he reminded himself. _She agreed to go with you, and she's here, all dressed and ready and looking beautiful. _He chanced a glance up at her face and when their eyes met she gave him a soft, encouraging smile, as if she could read his thoughts. He felt slightly less shaky.

"Er, shall we go then?" asked Neville. Hannah nodded and stepped up to his side. "You know the address, don't you?"

"Yes, but –" Hannah hesitated and the rouge in her cheeks darkened. Neville gave her a small nod to continue and she said, in one hasty breath, "I don't like to Apparate."

This surprised Neville, but he tried not to let it show. "I could see if Harry has his house connected to Floo yet, if you'd feel better about that."

"No, that – I wouldn't want to be such a bother," said Hannah quickly and her face seemed to be growing redder by the second. "I can Apparate, I'm just not fond of it. That one time, when we were learning in the Great Hall –" Hannah's embarrassment seemed to be beyond words by this point, but Neville knew what she meant now. He could remember in vivid detail the time when Hannah had splinched herself trying to Apparate, having been only two rings to her left and seeing the scene of her separated leg quite clearly.

"You don't like to Apparate on your own," said Neville, slowly and gently. Hannah went impossibly redder, now unable to look Neville in the face, but nodded. "That's no problem." He offered his arm to her, giving her a soft smile similar to the one she had given him minutes before. A look of intense relief swept across Hannah's face and in an instant she had reached out to grip his forearm with both of her hands. The contact sent a jolt through Neville's stomach, but he ignored it as he gave Hannah one more assuring smile and then turned on his heel.

The familiar, crushing feeling surrounded him, making Neville feel more than just a little claustrophobic. He felt Hannah's grip tightening on his arm, and although he was worried about her fears, he couldn't help but feel a satisfying sense of pride that she trusted him with her safety. It was still an unfamiliar feeling for him, being trusted to do things properly, but this time felt particularly important. This time it was Hannah.

Seconds later the world righted itself as his feet landed in a snow drift with a crunch and the overpowering darkness was replaced by light and colour. They were standing at the foot of a long drive, leading up to a large house. It was nothing too grand, displaying all of the modesty of its owners, although it was still much bigger than Neville would ever feel comfortable owning. The trim was lined with brightly coloured Christmas lights, and a stout pine tree in the yard had been decorated with what appeared to be gold and red bubbles. The small mansion greatly surpassed the extravagance of any of the neighbouring houses in Godric's Hollow, especially in its Christmasy glory.

"Wow," breathed Hannah, her breath crystallizing in the air before her as she stared up at the house in awe.

"Living well, isn't he?" asked Neville with a laugh, casting a glance at the house once again. He had teased Harry often on the luxury of his residence, to which his typical response was that after living in a cupboard for most of his life, he deserved it. Neville knew, however, that the excessive number of rooms came from Harry's desire to be able to surround himself with a large family that he'd always lacked before. It was one of those things they had in common.

Hannah shivered and Neville was jerked from his musing. "Oh, you must be freezing," he said and before she could protest he had draped his cloak around her shoulders. "Let's get inside, it's awfully chilly out."

Stepping forward, Neville pushed open the gate and held it for Hannah as they stepped onto the property. Hannah had once again taken his arm in one of her hands, the other holding the cloak securely around her shoulders, and she released neither as they walked up the lengthy gravel drive. She was looking timid as they finally reached the front step, and Neville paused before knocking, giving her a concerned glance.

"Are you alright, Hannah?" he asked.

Hannah flushed again. "Just a little nervous," she admitted. "I was never very close with them. You're sure they won't mind my being here, aren't you?"

"They'll love you, don't worry," said Neville encouragingly, and when Hannah finally returned his smile he knocked twice on the door. It was only a few seconds before it swung open in a flash of red and black. Ginny Potter was standing in the doorframe, a young boy with ruffled black hair perched on her hip.

"Neville, you've made it," said Ginny, excitedly. The little boy cheered sleepily, looking as though it was taking a great deal of effort to keep his light brown eyes opened even as he giggled. "And Hannah. It's good to see you again. Come in, come in." Neville stepped into the entrance hall, Hannah keeping close behind him, and Ginny shut the door. "I was just on my way to put Jamie to bed, but I want to catch up with you both when I get back."

"Mum, 'm'not sweepy," the little boy mumbled as he rubbed his fist into his eye.

"Nice try," said Ginny, laughing. Then she turned back to Neville and said, "Harry's down in the grand room with the others, you remember the way." Neville smiled back at his best friend and she reached out to touch his arm before turning and walking up the stairs. James' continued arguments that he wasn't tired echoed back down to them over Ginny's disbelieving laughs.

After helping Hannah off with the cloak and hanging it on a hook by the door, he offered her his arm once more, which she took eagerly, and then said, "This way." He led her down the hall to a door that was propped open and voices were audible beyond it. "I told you everything would be fine," he added in an undertone, fighting the satisfied smile that was threatening to take over his features.

"I know," said Hannah, still blushing but looking much less frightened. It seemed that being remembered by Ginny had eased her worries. They edged through the door, a bit awkwardly since Hannah was either unable or simply unwilling to let go of his arm, and Neville took in the sight of the Potters' grand room.

The room was large and the floor was empty except for a few small tables against one wall and a towering Christmas tree near the window that was decorated in lights and glittering icicles. Carols were playing from a large wireless on a small table by the fireplace. There weren't many people there yet, but Neville spotted several heads so red they could only be Weasleys, as well as the large figure of Hagrid sitting in a corner and drinking from a mug the size of a bucket. They had hardly stepped into the room when a tall, dark-haired man broke free from the people he was talking to and strode over, beaming.

"Happy Christmas, Neville," said Harry and he hastily shook hands with his friend. "Ginny was afraid you'd be too busy to make it this year, being Head of House and all, but I told her you wouldn't miss it."

"Never do," answered Neville. "Hey, Harry, you remember Hannah?"

Harry's eyes switched to Hannah and he smiled. "Oh yeah," he said and shook her hand as well. "You work down at the Leaky Cauldron now, don't you? I thought I saw you when I was coming through on some Christmas shopping a few weeks ago." Hannah nodded, apparently incapable of saying any more. "You look smashing," he said with a smile before turning back to Neville. "You haven't seen Hermione lately, have you?"

"No, not since her birthday," confessed Neville. "Haven't had much time to get away from the castle, with everything." He felt himself blushing, since every free moment he'd had that he might have been visiting his friends had been spent on Charing Cross Road with Hannah. She seemed to catch this as well and she smiled, cheeks brightening. Clearing his throat, Neville said, "She's really showing now, isn't she? In her last owl she was complaining about it."

"Large as a watermelon," said Harry with a quiet laugh. "Not that I'd say that in front of her, of course. Ron did the other day and she hexed him. Bloody hilarious, actually. He's still wincing every time he sits down." Neville laughed appreciatively and even Hannah gave a tentative chuckle. "C'mon, she'll go mental if she finds out you're here and haven't come to say hi yet."

Harry led them over to one of the small tables and he saw Hermione sitting down, one of her hands resting absentmindedly on her extremely rounded belly. When she spotted Neville she tried to stand up but Neville quickened his pace so he could reach her before she got up. Putting a hand onto her shoulder to keep her in her seat, he bent over to hug her and she placed a small kiss on his cheek.

"Almost the day, isn't it?" asked Neville, gesturing to her stomach.

"Only six weeks to go," said Hermione with an almost dreamy smile.

"And you said it's a girl, didn't you?" he asked, trying to remember the details she'd given in her last letter.

"We're naming her Rose," said Ron Weasley as he came up behind Hermione and handed her a glass of water. "Hiya Neville," he added and grinned. He pulled a chair up beside his wife's and Neville noticed that he was grimacing as he lowered himself into the seat. Harry caught Neville's eye and they both bit back snickers.


	5. The Christmas Spirit

The evening went on as people wandered around, catching up with friends and family that they hadn't spoken to in a while. As more drinks were consumed, the talk became more boisterous and culminated in George and Bill Weasley breaking out in an impromptu and extremely tone-deaf carol. At nine o'clock, Harry had announced to the gathered crowd that he and Ginny were expecting their second child in seven months' time, which was met with a large amount of applause and Molly Weasley bursting into overjoyed tears. Eventually Hannah felt comfortable enough to leave Neville's side, and she had sat down at the table with Hermione. From a few yards away where he was hiding after just escaping a rather boring conversation with Percy, Neville watched the two women talking rapidly and giggling, and he smiled.

"Hey you." Neville turned to see Ginny standing beside him and his grin widened. He hadn't gotten the chance to talk to his best friend since his arrival, made more difficult as she was swarmed by people congratulating her on her pregnancy. Laughing at his brightened expression, Ginny swept him into a bone-crushing hug that he knew she had learned, or possibly inherited, from her mother.

"Congratulations, Gin," he said when they finally broke apart. "When did you find out?"

"Only two days ago," said Ginny, now smiling broadly. "I was going to send you an owl the moment I found out, but I've been so busy with plans for the party."

"Its fine," said Neville. "This way there won't be any of that jealous bickering because someone found out before someone else." He was referring to the disastrous family dispute from two years ago, when Molly found out that Fleur knew about Ginny's pregnancy before her. This was only because Harry and Ginny had been staying at Shell Cottage that week, but it hadn't stopped Molly from giving her eldest daughter-in-law the cold shoulder for several weeks.

"That's true," said Ginny. "Course they'll just find something else to argue about. If a month's gone by when those two haven't fought about something, then I'm a flobberworm." They both looked over at where Molly and Fleur were currently chatting away happily. "What's a family without a little drama, right?"

"Definitely not the Weasleys," answered Neville and they both laughed. "Have you seen Lavender?"

"How could I not?" replied Ginny, shaking her head. "Walking around and flashing that engagement ring at everyone she can. I like her, but I don't envy Seamus being stuck with her the rest of his life. I'm still grateful that Ron came to his senses because I definitely could not handle having her as a sister-in-law. They were a revolting couple, weren't they?"

"Well it wasn't that pleasant to be around them, that's for sure," agreed Neville, shuddering away the memories of seeing Ron and Lavender snogging at every available opportunity. "Not that she and Seamus are much better," he pointed out, gesturing to the newly engaged couple standing beneath the mistletoe. "I hope Luna goes over and starts warning them about Nargles."

Ginny laughed. "That would be funny," she said. "Or maybe her date could, he's just as bizarre as her."

"Who is he? I've never met him and I haven't gotten an owl from Luna in months," asked Neville, looking over at the thin man beside the dreamy-faced blonde. He was as unusual looking as his date, with a narrow frame rather like a scarecrow topped in a strangely cut mess of curly hair, although he was not accessorized with any sort of vegetable or cork unlike Luna.

"Rolf Scamander," said Ginny, also eyeing him. "He's a naturalist like her, and he apparently believes everything in the Quibbler. They've been off in Finland the last six months on some lead in finding those Crumpled-Sack things." She laughed, shaking her head again. "You know I always thought you and Luna had something going on," she added.

Neville's eyes widened in surprise and he turned back to her so fast his neck cricked. "Luna and I?" he repeated faintly. "No, I'm fond of her but I don't think I could ever like her in that way. She's a little too –"

"Insane?" supplied Ginny.

"I was going to say eccentric," said Neville although he was grinning. "I think I'd rather be with someone a little more grounded in reality, maybe."

"Like Hannah?" put in Ginny slyly.

Neville chuckled despite turning red around the ears. "Ah, so you've finally gotten us around to what you've been dying to ask all night," he said and Ginny shrugged unashamedly. "We're only friends."

"Oh please, Neville," said Ginny and she rolled her eyes. "I know you better than that. You've come to this party alone for the last five years, and then out of the blue you show up with a 'friend.' You can't honestly think I'm that thick."

"There are a load of things I might call you, Gin, but thick is not likely one of them," said Neville and he laughed as Ginny shoved him playfully.

"So tell me the truth then, you bloody git," said Ginny. "C'mon, I know you secretly want to talk about it too, so spill it already."

Neville shifted hesitantly but Ginny was staring at him so intently he knew there was no escaping it now. After a long forty seconds of the tense quiet, he finally said, "So I like her." Ginny smiled triumphantly but she had to glare him into continuing. "We ran into each other at the Leaky Cauldron the end of summer, stayed up half the night talking. I've gone back every few days since then." Neville was grinning now without any conscious memory of moving his facial muscles. It didn't skip his notice that this seemed to be a natural reaction when thinking about Hannah anymore.

"She's pretty," said Ginny, glancing over to where Hannah was still sitting with Hermione and had just been joined by George's wife, Angelina. Neville gave a distracted hum of agreement. "Snogged her yet?"

"Ginny!" exclaimed Neville in a frantic whisper, looking both scandalized and amused at the same time. "Well it's not bloody likely I'll tell you now, bellowing on about it like that."

"I wasn't bellowing," countered Ginny. "I can though, if you like."

"I'd rather you not," assured Neville quickly, his face turning the same scarlet as a Gryffindor banner.

Ginny shook her head sadly and said, "I take it that means you haven't, then? Well you ought to get a move on it. Keep playing just friends with her much longer when she obviously likes you, and she's gonna start thinking you're a flaming queer." She ignored Neville's repeated protest of "Ginny!" and continued. "I mean, she clearly fancies you. Best grab her up before she thinks you don't fancy her as well and gives you up as a lost cause."

"You really aren't making me feel better about this," said Neville, once again twisting his hands and looking decidedly more nervous.

"Look, Neville, I'm saying this because you're one of my best friends," said Ginny and her tone had taken on a slightly more serious tone that held something of her maternal instincts in it. "You're a brilliant person, and I can see you both are wild for each other. You don't have to pop the question tonight or anything, just do something before you miss out, alright?"

"Alright, alright," grumbled Neville but his stomach was squirming rather uncomfortably as he looked over at Hannah. For a moment their eyes met and she smiled at him, and his chest felt rather lighter despite the fact that his stomach was churning worse than ever.

A slow, classical Christmas piece had come onto the wireless and Ginny's eyes suddenly lit up. Turning on Neville, he instantly recognized that burning intensity in her gaze. It was one he'd grown familiar with during their year resisting the Death Eaters reign at Hogwarts, one that meant she had a plan and nothing was going to deter her. He couldn't help himself; he gulped.

"Ask her to dance."

"Pardon?" asked Neville, sure he hadn't heard her right. Ginny only stared at him insistently. "Ask her to dance? Not bloody likely. With all these people watching, and besides, I'm rubbish at dancing."

"You are not," retorted Ginny. Neville raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Alright, so you might have trod on my toes a time or two, but that was a long time ago. You're not near as clumsy as you were, it'll be fine."

"I'm not doing it, Ginny," said Neville firmly, and he crossed his arms. "No one else is dancing, and I'm fairly certain making myself look like a total prat is not a good way to show Hannah I like her."

"Neville, I think I might know a little more about girls than you do," said Ginny, gently even though she was smirking. Neville rolled his eyes but didn't want to admit she had a point. "It'll show you're brave and not afraid to let people see that you care for her. Girls love it when a man isn't ashamed of the fact that he's soft for her. And if it'll make you feel better, I'll go get Harry and make him dance with me as well, so you won't be out there alone."

Neville was watching her thoughtfully, his brow pulled down in focus. His mind was filled with an image of sweeping Hannah around the room as the violin music rolled in the background, and she was smiling at him in a purely enraptured way. What surprised him, however, was when the fantasy faded and he saw that the real Hannah across the room was giving him a fairly similar look. Emboldened, Neville gave Ginny a quick nod, at which she donned a most Weasley-ish grin, and then he crossed the room to the table where Hannah sat.

All three women paused in their conversation to look up as he stopped beside Hannah's seat. The attention was making him jittery, but he forced himself to focus on Hannah's curious face only. Clearing his throat, he held out a hand to her and asked, "Could I have this dance?"

For a moment Hannah looked surprised and Neville fidgeted as she stared at him. Finally a smile split across her face and she placed her hand in his. It seemed such a marvellous thing to him how perfectly her dainty hand fit into his thicker palm, and he closed his fingers lightly around hers as he led her into the centre of the grand room. There were a remarkable number of eyes on them now, but the time for turning back had passed. Hannah placed her other hand on his shoulder and, trembling slightly, Neville set his hand on the small of her back. His heart was beating so loudly it was almost impossible for him to hear the music as his ears sought a tempo, but after a hesitant failure he stepped off at the right time and they danced.

It was a little uncertain at first, and Neville was suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn't actually danced since the time Ginny had forced him to dance with her at her wedding. He gradually fell into the rhythm, but he was still tense as he struggled to pay attention to where he was placing his feet. Hannah was smiling, but she seemed a little put off by his look of intense concentration because it faltered slightly.

"Oof, sorry," said Hannah suddenly. She had just stepped onto his foot and his big toe gave a painful throb, completely conflicting with the leaping of his heart. He could see as he met her gaze that she was not sorry at all, because she had done it on purpose. He knew it should seem like teasing, but with her sweet smile it felt only like encouragement. It was as if she could read his every insecurity, and she had trodden on his toes to make him feel less worried about looking like a clumsy fool. A genuine smile broke out on his face and without hesitation he swept her into his arms and they waltzed off again.

Other couples joined them on the floor after that. Ginny grinned at him smugly as she and Harry span past, and it was safer to keep a distance from George and Angelina's excitable quickstepping that was purposefully at odds with the music. Seamus and Lavender were dancing in one corner, although they spent much of the time stopping to kiss again, and a little ways away Dean Thomas was dancing with his girlfriend, a pretty Muggle girl he knew from his neighbourhood. On the other side of the room, Luna and Rolf were dancing in their unusual way, which involved much flailing of the arms as they swayed and reminded Neville forcibly of the Dancing Daffodils in Hannah's flat.

Hannah was practically glowing as they moved around the dance floor together. Her smile was wider still than he had ever seen it, and she didn't seem capable of taking her eyes away from him. As much as his natural self doubt wanted to burst from him and find some excuse, nothing could alter the image of her as she smiled up at him, held securely in his arms as they danced. For the first time, a hope flared in his chest that was, for the time at least, untouched by doubt.

They danced for several more songs, and Neville stood on her toes twice but felt less embarrassed as Hannah returned the favour with a good-humoured smile seconds later. When Neville was feeling extremely warm from the dancing, they returned to the table with Hermione, who was now joined by Ron. It appeared that they were bickering once again, this time about Ron's insistence that she could most definitely not join in the dancing and his general over-protectiveness of her as she was "quite capable of taking care of herself, thank you."

Midnight had come and passed, and people began trickling out the door. Neville and Hannah were some of the last to leave, apart from Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid, the latter because he was snoring loudly in the corner and they thought it best to leave him. They said their good-byes, making promises to get together again soon, and then Neville wrapped Hannah securely in his cloak before they retraced their steps down the walk. He only paused to give her a questioning glance and receive her nod in reply before he turned on his heel and they Disapparated.

They appeared with a faint 'pop' in the living room of Hannah's flat and the first thing they spotted was Lionel sprawled on the couch, fast asleep.

"Thanks, Neville," said Hannah in a whisper, still beaming. "I had an amazing time tonight. I'm really glad I went."

"So am I," answered Neville in a hushed voice. He shifted from one foot to the other and then said, "Well, I reckon I better go. It's really late, isn't it?"

"Goodnight then," said Hannah and she took a step back in preparation to turn away. "Happy Christmas."

A sudden sense of daring overtook Neville, possibly a result of the high Christmas spirits or maybe from the three shots of firewhiskey he'd had, and in a second he had crossed the short distance between Hannah and himself, and pressed his mouth to hers. He was hesitant and uncertain, having never honestly kissed anyone before apart from a kiss on the cheek of his elderly relatives, but Hannah moved ever so closer and he could feel her smiling against his lips. They pulled back and Neville was feeling highly grateful for his mildly cavalier moment. By the glint in her eyes it seemed that perhaps she was as well, which only set to make him feel better.

"Happy Christmas," he echoed and he couldn't fight the roguish grin that snuck onto his face. He turned on his heel and caught the sound of Hannah's bright laughter before he was enveloped in darkness. A moment later he reappeared on the end of the High Street in Hogsmeade village, prepared to make the long trek back up to the castle. He was several metres into the grounds when a particularly strong shiver woke him from the elated bubble he had been existing in. Glancing down, he laughed aloud at his own giddy foolishness.

He'd left his cloak on Hannah.


	6. Rainy Day Confessions

Winter faded away and the first week of March dawned cold and wet. Rain was pouring across the country, melting the snow and leaving marshy puddles in its wake. Neville was watching over the rim of his teacup as the moonlit water streamed down the window of Hannah's kitchen.

"I love the rain," said Hannah vaguely from where she was sitting beside him at the dining table. "Don't you?"

"I don't mind it," said Neville with a shrug. "Except when it's this heavy I'm always afraid it's going to destroy my gardens." He'd put protective charms over the plants to stop them from being crushed in the raindrops the size of snitches, but that didn't ease his worries too much; his charms had failed him plenty of times before, after all.

"Yes, that's true," agreed Hannah and she stirred her tea pensively. "Still, I think it's rather romantic and beautiful, especially with the moon lighting it like this." As she said this, she moved her chair closer to Neville and he smiled. Since Christmas they had been growing continually closer. His trips to London had become far more frequent, despite his increased workload as the end of term drew nearer, and after the bar was closed for the night the pair of them would retreat into Hannah's quarters where they spent the evenings on her couch in front of the fire. This evening they were huddled together in the kitchen over warm tea as they enjoyed a momentary reprieve from their works.

"Very romantic," said Neville with a soft laugh and, as he knew Hannah was intending for, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Sighing dreamily, she leaned into his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You never did tell me how the quidditch match went," said Hannah suddenly. "I won, didn't I?" The Hogwarts quidditch cup tournament, between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, had taken place the day before and they had been placing bets on the champion.

"Yes, you won," said Neville grudgingly. "Two-hundred and thirty to a hundred and eighty, for Hufflepuff." He heaved a mock sigh. He was sad that his house had lost, but then he was also looking forward to the outcome of their bet.

"Excellent," said Hannah. "I'll take my prize then, shall I?" She straightened up and turned until she was facing him, an almost teasing smile on her face. Placing one of her hands on the back of his neck, she leaned in until their lips met. It sent the same thrill through his stomach that he'd felt the very first time and, for what must have been the hundredth time, he was grateful for his moment of daring that had brought them to this point of their relationship.

"You know, you really are a terrible influence," said Neville several minutes later when they had finally returned to their now tepid tea. Hannah raised her eyebrows questioningly. "I really ought to be grading those papers but you are being such a distraction."

Hannah giggled and smirked at him. "I'm sorry, I could let you go back to your office," she said innocently. "It's alright, I was going to bake some lemon squares anyhow." He saw her smile widen as his eyes lit up. His Gran would kill him if she heard him say it, but Hannah made the greatest lemon squares he'd ever eaten.

"I'll, uh, I'll just do some work here at the table then?" asked Neville and Hannah laughed again as she took the empty teacups to the sink. Neville retrieved his bag from the living room and set about grading essays at the kitchen table, taking several pauses to look up and watch Hannah as she baked. She caught him staring most of the time and she smiled as he quickly looked back at his work, cheeks red.

"So, tell me how they turned out. I made them a bit differently this time," said Hannah and she held a steaming yellow square in front of his face. Neville took a bite, hissing in surprise as it burnt his tongue. "That bad?" asked Hannah nervously.

"No, hot," said Neville, swallowing the burning lump before it could do further damage to his taste buds. He licked his lips to find the remainder of the lemony flavour. "Delicious, just hot."

Hannah smiled apologetically and jumped back out of her seat. "Sorry, do you need a glass of water?" Neville shook his head, laughing at her gentle eagerness. It was amazing how she could portray such enthusiasm and yet maintain that soft sweetness that was so characteristically _her_ at the same time. He let his eyes linger, taking in every detail of her face again. His chest felt fluttery and warm, and he was certain by now that he knew what that feeling meant. Now if only he could bring himself to tell her.

With her baking done, the pair relocated to their favourite spot on the living room rug. Neville resumed grading while Hannah lay on her stomach at his side, penning a letter to her aunt. The plate of lemon squares rested between them, and it gradually depleted as they worked on in perfect comfort. This was one of the things Neville liked most about being with Hannah; she didn't need to be romanced in exotic new ways every few days. She was more down-to-earth than that, and instead they drew affection from the simple act of being near each other while they fulfilled their own practical ends. It made their relationship feel so romantic and yet real.

Hannah mumbled something to herself as she scratched out a word with her quill. Neville smiled as he watched her furrow her brow and write another line in her soft, rounded handwriting. It was clear and practical and easy to read and had an overlay of femininity. Neville marvelled at how closely that matched her personality. She was a beautiful woman and held a slightly romantic streak that it seemed Neville's small gestures managed to somehow satisfy, but beyond that she was hard-working and focused and loyal and kind. The fact that he could tell that much about her never ceased to stun him either, because he was sure he had never known another person quite as well as he felt he knew her.

Gone were his worries about her affections. She never failed to show him how much she cared, through the littlest things. Her dazzling smile every time he stepped out of the grate, and the prompt hug and kiss she bestowed on him, and the way she held onto him tightly when they were saying their farewells all rang of her devotion. While he was still mystified how a woman like her could care for him so much, he had no doubts that she did. They were both very much smitten by the other.

Neville leaned back, resting his shoulders against the cushions of the sofa and stretching his legs out in front of him. His fourth-years' essays on the uses of Bouncing Bulbs in modern magic were spread across the rug at his side, but he couldn't be bothered to return to them. He would finish them later. Instead he memorized the image of Hannah's face, illuminated by the firelight, nose wrinkled in concentration. Finally she signed the bottom of the scroll with a flourish and sat up, stretching her muscles. She turned to see him watching and smiled. In an instant she had moved herself closer to his side and leaned against him, making herself comfortable in the circle of his arms.

"I'm distracting you again, aren't I?" asked Hannah, casting a glance at the parchment rolls on his other side.

"It's alright," said Neville assuredly, tightening his grip around her. "It's worth it." Hannah made a soft hum of happiness and nuzzled her head into his chest. They sat in the silence together, drinking in the warmth and cosiness of their contact, until the fire was sinking into ruby embers.

Neville's mind was racing. His chest felt like it may explode if he didn't say what he was thinking soon, but he was nervous. For all his self-assuredness and confidence in their relationship, it was something he had never said before. What if he messed it up somehow? Still, he needed to say it. How much longer would she have faith in their relationship if he didn't?

The mood was right for it, surely. The rain tapped lightly against the glass and the fire was casting a ruddy glow across them as they sat cuddled together in front of the fire. There couldn't be a more perfect setting for it.

"Hannah?" he started tremulously.

"Mmm?"

Deep breath. "I love you."

"Mmhmm," came the bleary reply. Glancing down, Neville saw that her face was nestled into the fabric of his robes, a dreamy smile on her lips, and her eyes were closed. She was asleep.

Neville smiled at the sight, but simultaneously let out a sigh. He had finally managed to say it, and she hadn't heard him. Still, he felt lighter. He had yet to actually do the deed, but he was at least a step closer. It was the first time he'd ever been able to say the words aloud in her presence. Even though she was sleeping, the little victory gave him hope. Surely this meant saying it the next time would be easier, because he had done it already. He relaxed back against the couch and let his fingers twist through her blonde locks idly.

It was over an hour later when Hannah finally stirred awake and blinked around bemusedly. She glanced at the clock and gave a small gasp. "Merlin's beard, it's after one," said Hannah. "You needed to be back to the castle already. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, really," said Neville. Hannah, however, seemed far more concerned about his having to teach a class while drowsy than he was. She was constantly muttering apologies as he gathered his work into his bag and picked up his cloak, until he finally kissed her soundly just to stop her. "Hannah, relax. You keep on like that and you're going to burst into flame or something."

"Sorry," said Hannah again, as she followed him out into the barroom. Neville gestured his wand at the fireplace and the flames leapt up again, before he turned back to Hannah. "I just feel bad keeping you here when you've got classes in the morning."

"Really, if I was that worried about it I would've woken you," said Neville. Hannah looked a bit sceptical at this, and he had to admit that she might have good reason, but he tried to look sure of himself. "Besides, it's only an hour after I normally go. And I've got the fourth years first thing; they aren't as much trouble as the younger years usually."

"Still, I'm sorry I kept you," said Hannah and she slipped into his arms.

"I'm not," said Neville with a laugh and he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head.

When they had finished saying their farewells, he tossed a bit of powder into the fireplace and told it his destination. He had one foot in the grate when he heard her say, "Neville." Clinging awkwardly to the mantle with one hand as he looked back over his shoulder, he saw Hannah smiling in an almost mischievous way. "I love you too."

He was so stunned his hand slipped and he fell rather than stepped into the fireplace, somersaulting out onto the floor of his office several seconds later, dizzy, bruised, covered in ash, and grinning like a fool.


	7. The Gifts

A gloriously warm spring had spread across England and Neville was once again watching the weather through a window. The hospital ward was warm and the more lucid patients were building up energy as if they were absorbing the sunlight. Gilderoy Lockhart particularly seemed in a higher than usual mood and was showing it by running around the ward and showing his improved autographs to everyone in the room.

"Yeah, looks great," said Neville for the third time that afternoon as Lockhart once again shoved the signed photo beneath his nose.

"Of course it does," said Lockhart, smiling in that showy way of his that made Neville sure he was most suited to be a model in catalogues. "See how I've got those little flourishes on the ends? I've only just learned to do that last week. Looks quite smashing, doesn't it?" Before Neville could answer, he had laughed and hurried to show the photograph to the nurse who'd just entered.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Neville turned back to the two beds he was sitting in between. On his left was the blank-faced man staring vacantly at the ceiling, and on his right was the round-faced woman whose expression was one of childish curiosity and innocence. She was folding and unfolding a scrap of parchment in her lap as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. Neither of them was paying much heed to their visitor but Neville was well used to it by now. He came to St. Mungo's every other Sunday to see his parents and even though he knew they weren't listening to anything he was saying, he would talk to them about everything that came to mind.

"Ginny is really showing now," he said, still looking out of the window. "It's another boy, like Jamie. They haven't been able to decide what to name him yet though. And Rose is getting so big; she's two months now. I saw them all last week over the Easter holiday; there was a big Sunday brunch at the Burrow. It's amazing how many people they can cram into that yard. The place is huge, but there are so many people it's starting to become a bit tight. Those Weasley kids have any more and they'll have to expand the yard.

"It's fun though, being with all those people. You both would've enjoyed it, they're all so kind and unexpected things seem to happen every few minutes. Mostly George's little twins to blame for that, but Teddy sure has a streak for trouble too. It's always a laugh to turn around and find he's changed his appearance in the last few seconds."

Neville sank into quiet laughter and he saw his mother looking up at him out of the corner of his eye. She was regarding him with interest and when he looked back at her she smiled before turning back to her parchment. He had given up hope of her recognizing him by now; after more than twenty years it was hard to think that things would ever go back to normal. Still that didn't stop his heart from jumping slightly whenever it seemed like she was studying his face very seriously. He wanted to think that maybe she was looking for the clues as to who her visitor was, trying to place where she knew him from.

There were also times when it seemed like she knew what he was saying. Maybe she was only reading his tone, but when he talked about things that were happy she would smile, occasionally even giggle, and when he talked about sad things she would pout. He had even seen her get a slight scowl on when he was talking about something that had made him angry before. She never really responded, but he liked to think that maybe she understood just a little of what he was telling her. It made him feel better to think that his mother wasn't completely removed from her son's life, even if she didn't know he was her child.

However it was times like today when he was really wishing she could grasp at what he was saying. He had come here today prepared to tell them something very important, something that he felt he couldn't actually do until he had informed them, as little good as it did. It had been put off so far because he wanted to say it at one of those points when his mother seemed to be paying attention to him, if only for the sake of his own belief.

"Work is getting crazier with the end of term coming up," said Neville, sighing and pulling a hand through his hair fretfully. "I never realized how much went into being Head of House or I wouldn't have taken the job. McGonagall says I'm doing fine, but I'm always afraid I'm going to bungle something. Every time I say so, Hannah just tells me I'm being silly and then bakes sweets for me. I swear it, if she keeps it up I'll be as round as Horace Slughorn by Christmastime."

Neville nearly laughed as his mother looked up, a curious light in her eye. He should have known that would be the way to get her attention. For reasons unknown, although they all supported his theory of Alice understanding at least some of what he said, nearly every time he said Hannah's name his mother would start to pay attention. She seemed to have completely forgotten about the parchment in her lap and her eyes were focused on him with a brightness that they rarely ever held.

"Still, I can't help but be grateful for her," he continued, taking advantage of the moment. "If it weren't for her I think I may have already told McGonagall I couldn't keep doing the position. It's amazing how much she believes in me, you know? And whenever she does, it makes me believe in myself too. I'm so much stronger then I was as a kid, I know that, but being with her makes me feel as strong and brave and determined as I did during the battle at Hogwarts. Like I have something worth fighting for again. I actually feel like I could be that hero everyone keeps saying I am. I don't know how she does it, but it's bloody brilliant."

He stopped for a second and Alice tilted her head slightly, eyes round, as though she were begging him to continue. Neville smiled and leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his knees. "Mum, Dad," he said and he thought he may have seen his father's eyes flick to him and then back to the ceiling. Alice simply continued to stare with youthful interest. "I'm gonna ask Hannah to marry me."

The reaction was not quite like what he'd gotten when he'd first confessed this desire to Ginny on Easter. Ginny had given a rather high-pitched squeal that had attracted them a lot of attention Neville had been trying to avoid, and then swept him into a crushing hug. She was almost teary-eyed when she finally let him go, although this he attributed to her hormones because Ginny Potter didn't just start crying willy-nilly.

Frank simply blinked. Alice had gotten a rather dazed smile on her face and then turned her attention to a loose string in the sleeve of her nightgown. Neville sighed, not having expected much more than that, and stood up. It was nearing suppertime now and he needed to get back to the castle before his absence at another meal was noted by the increasingly smug Slughorn. Neville couldn't bring himself to tell the Potions professor that half of his disappearances from the castle were to visit his parents instead of his 'lady friend,' not wanting to have to endure listening to the elderly man waffle on about his parents; dealing with the constant far-from-subtle jokes about his romance was bad enough.

"I have to go," he said to his parents wearily. "I still have a stack of essays in my office I need to have ready to hand back in the next few days." He approached his father's bedside and bent to kiss him on the cheek, and then did the same to his mother. Grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, he straightened up to find Alice standing beside him, one of her hands held out in front of her.

Smiling sadly, Neville held his hand out, palm up, to accept her ritualistic gum wrapper. It was practically tradition and once he got back to his quarters it would be added to the small cedar box he kept inside his bedside table, enchanted with an Engorgement charm so it could hold two decades worth of crumpled blue and white papers. Alice placed her hand above his and uncurled her fingers, but instead of a square of sugary paper, something smooth and warm landed on his palm.

Brow furrowing, Neville lifted his hand closer to his face and something in his chest seized. There it was, a small golden circle glimmering against his skin, the minute diamond winking in the spring sunshine. That same simple, charming ring that Alice Longbottom had worn for thirty years, even after she could not remember why she had it or where it had come from; his mother's engagement ring.

Neville couldn't stop his lip from quivering as he looked up to meet his mother's face, where the resemblance was so severe even with the damages time had wrought on them both. She was smiling in a pleasantly dreamy way, not all there as usual, but there seemed to be something sharp and exact in her eyes that suggested only one thing: clarity. Choking back a sob, Neville pulled his mother into a hug and for a moment buried his face in her shoulder, wanting to believe for even a second that the scenario was as it should be. He tried to think that his mother, overwhelmed with pleasure that her little boy was in love and getting married, had just presented him with a priceless treasure and that they were now hugging and crying together.

But it wasn't; Alice was hugging him back but in that light way one used when being forced to be friendly with distant family. Although his cheeks were now shining with tears, he stepped back to see her eyes were dry and the light had gone from them again. The moment of burning reality was gone and she was once again only a patient with no memory or sanity or understanding of the fact that she had just given her only child the greatest gift he could have asked for.

Eyeing him curiously, Alice reached up and brushed her hand over his cheek and then stared at her fingers as if trying to reason what the strange wetness was. Neville took a heavy, shaking breath and tucked his mother's ring into his breast pocket. "Thanks, Mum," he said, his voice thick. He pressed another, firmer kiss against her cheek and then made for the door to the ward as he sought to control himself.

Just as his hand extended for the doorknob, his other hand was seized in a soft, weathered one. A second later he felt the grittiness and heard the crinkling as a wrapper for Droobles' Best Blowing Gum was pressed into his palm. Neville looked over his shoulder to see Alice smiling cheerfully. "Thanks, Mum," he said again, his saddened smile back again. Without any other reaction, she turned and walked back to her bed. Neville watched as she sat down and promptly snatched a piece of gum from her bedside table, popped it into her mouth, and then set about flattening the wrapper in her lap.

Taking deep, shuddery breaths to get his breathing back to normal, Neville slid the wrapper he held into his pocket and felt his fingers brush the little ring. He fought against the burning that rose in his eyes as he thought about it and put his jacket on. With one last check that both of his mother's gifts were tucked securely in his pocket, and one last glance over his shoulder, he left the hospital.


	8. Midnight Post

It was dark outside and Neville was sitting at his desk, a stack of papers forgotten on the desk as he twisted a small golden band between his thick fingers. His mind was far away in London with a pretty blonde woman and it was refusing to return despite the fact that he knew he had a heap of work to finish in the next few days, and the fact that it was past midnight and he really could use with some sleep. It had been just over a week since he had visited his parents and he had kept his mother's ring tucked away securely in his breast pocket at all times except for the occasions when he pulled it out to admire. It was traditional, classy, and beautiful; exactly like his Hannah. Now if only he could reach the point when he could put it on her finger.

The last two times he had gone to see her, he had been prepared but the moments hadn't felt right. They had both been exhausted by work or preoccupied with other things, so the mood had been anything but romantic. Neville wanted the moment to be special. Hannah wasn't a gushing romantic like most of the other girls he knew, but she appreciated the little gestures and he wanted to be sure he could give her at least that. However now that his schedule was getting busier as the year end exams drew nearer, he was spending so much time at work he had no idea when he would have the time to see her again.

Still, the delay wasn't all bad. The extra time gave him more of a chance to prepare for what to say. The idea of being spontaneous had seemed good at first, being able to just spill his hearts contents in an abrupt demonstration of his love, but now he was feeling rather grateful for the chance to think about it. What if he said something wrong and ruined it? He never had been good at expressing his feelings, or even speaking eloquently, and this seemed like a poor time to make a crucial mistake. The image of him, sweating and spluttering, while Hannah stared at him with a look torn between pity and disgust, was not a comforting one. Yes, having a plan was a much safer decision by far.

A rapping sound made him look up and he saw a large, tawny owl outside the glass, barely visible in the glow cast by his lamps. He hastily tucked the ring back into his pocket and leapt up to open the window. The owl soared down to the desk and then held out its leg. Curious who would be sending post this late, he untied the scroll and dropped into his chair once more. As he unfurled the parchment, he saw that the message was short and written in a frenetic, hasty scrawl. His eyes panned down the black ink and when he reached the final sentence he felt his muscles freeze. The scroll fell from his limp fingers and fluttered to the floor.

Minutes later, Neville was knocking on a familiar door. There were muffled sounds from behind the door and the door was opened as a wand pointed at his chest. A quiet gasp sounded and then a murmur of, "Lumos," brought a pale white glow between the two of them. Hannah was staring at him, wide-eyed, as she tied the knot of her dressing gown with one hand.

"Neville?" she asked in disbelief, her eyes sweeping over him. He hadn't bothered with his appearance, and he knew he looked rather dishevelled. His tie hung loosely around his neck, the knot level with his sternum, and his robes were hanging at an angle off his shoulders. He had forgotten to put on shoes and his socks were now liberally covered in ash, although so was the rest of him as he had forgotten to dust himself off as he'd clambered out of the grate. Neville wrapped his arms tighter around himself, feeling his body quivering, and his eyes were red as he stared back at her.

"Neville, what's wrong?" asked Hannah quickly, and she ushered him into the room. She waved her wand and the lamps of the living room illuminated, and then she shepherded him over to the couch and sat down beside him. Neville couldn't find his voice as he sat, trembling, until she took his pale hands in both of hers and began rubbing soothing circles on the backs of his hands with her thumbs.

"It's my gran," he said in a hollow voice. "My great uncle Algie's just sent me a letter. She's – she had a heart attack. She's – " He trailed off, unable to say that final, dark word. It was only when Hannah brushed her fingers over his cheek that he realized he'd started crying.

"Oh, Neville," breathed Hannah and he saw that her own eyes looked bright as well. "I'm so sorry." With a shuddery breath, Neville crumbled into her embrace and let his grief wash over him.

Gran had always seemed unstoppable. There had been so many things through the years and they seemed to never slow her. Nothing could stop her; not the torture of her only son, or having a young child thrust onto her, or the death of her husband a few years later, or even Death Eaters could change her from the strong, powerful witch she was. She had been like a rock against the storm for his whole life. Neville had always counted on her to be there, especially now when he was preparing to make such an important step in his life, and now she was gone.

He clutched more tightly to the back of Hannah's dressing gown, clinging to her for dear life. All he could fathom was that the last close family he had was gone. First his parents, then Granddad, and now Gran. He had never felt so alone, but the feel of Hannah's arms around him eased that pain. Here was someone who understood him, who knew how to comfort him and knew his pain, and he didn't want to let her go. It was irrational thinking that had brought him to her door, but he couldn't make himself leave.

Without remembering falling asleep, he woke nearly as exhausted as he had been the night before, and with the addition of feeling as though his eyes had been coated in sand. It was still fairly dark except for a lamp in the corner and he blinked a few times to make out his surroundings. On closer inspection he saw that he was lying on Hannah's sofa and that a blanket had been draped over him. At the same moment he figured this out, Hannah came out of the kitchen carrying two mugs.

"Morning," she said in a quiet voice and smiled at him comfortingly. "How are you feeling?"

Neville thought about it for a moment, the reflexive answer of "fine" balancing on his tongue, before saying, "Worn."

"Coffee?" she asked, holding one of the mugs to him. Neville sat up and took it gratefully, swallowing a large mouthful of the hot drink and enjoying the sensation as it burned into his stomach. It served the dual purpose of waking him and clearing his head.

"What time is it?" asked Neville, casting an anxious glance at the dark windows.

"Just after four in the morning," said Hannah over the top of her own coffee.

Neville had been on the verge of asking why he was at her place so early when the night before crashed over him. His hands began to shake so badly that he nearly dropped the coffee and he hastily set it on an endtable. Emotion flooded him and he set his face in his hands, trying to compose himself. He heard Hannah come to sit beside him and she gently placed one of her hands on his shoulder. Neville instinctively set his own hand on hers and he studied the feel of it beneath his palm as he tried to sort his thoughts.

"It doesn't feel like it can be real," he said, his voice so thick he barely recognized it.

"It never does," said Hannah, and he felt his heart go out to her. She knew how he felt; he had been in her class when she had been pulled out and informed of her mother's death. "But we have to accept it and learn to grow from it."

"I can't face this right now," said Neville desperately. He felt whiney, hearing the words coming from him, but he couldn't stop the tidal wave as it forced its way through his mouth. "It's not fair. I was _happy_, and things were so perfect. Why now? She – she was so strong and now she's just not there. I can't – I don't think I can do this, Hannah."

"I'll be with you," said Hannah. Her voice was so firm and resolute that Neville lifted his head out of his palm to stare at her. Her expression was sympathy and kindness, but there was strength in her eyes that he felt himself drawn to like a Summoning Charm. "You won't have to do this alone, Neville. Having someone helps and I'll be with you through it all, if you want me there."

In an instant, Neville had drawn her into his arms and he was hugging her as if he could convey everything he was feeling through the contact if only he held on long enough. There were tears in his eyes again, but this time they were of both sadness and gratitude. He couldn't find words enough to say what he wanted to, but he managed to choke out a thick, "Thank you," before his throat became too tight to speak.

The next six days passed in a blur and Neville managed to grow more composed as they moved. He made it through all of his classes and got caught up on his papers, while spending all of his free time with Hannah. She became his pillar and whenever he felt he couldn't last, she gave him the strength to go on.

Finally the day for the funeral had arrived and Neville was sitting in the front row, Hannah holding his hand supportively. Great Uncle Algie was on his other side, looking unnaturally serious compared to the eclectic relative he remembered who had once hung him from a window by his ankles, and he had his arm around Great Auntie Enid. There were a few more obscure relatives that Neville hardly knew, as well as many of his Gran's friends.

The man who was speaking was talking about things that seemed irrelevant to Neville. While he prattled on about the way Gran had been in school, Neville was remembering her favourite vulture-topped hat and fox-fur scarves. The way she had always been firm with him and had talked to him like he was an adult from the age of eight. The way she told him never to be ashamed of his parents and that she thought there were no braver people in the world. The way she had told the newspapers how proud she was of her grandson when he came into his own, and how she had told him that his father would be so proud.

The old man was gesturing to Neville now and he stood, his body feeling heavy and leaden. Hannah gave his hand one last squeeze as he started for the podium. He could feel the whole crowds' eyes on him but for once the pressure seemed muted. This wasn't about him; it was about Gran.

"Gran was strong," started Neville, looking out over the gathering. He was suddenly wishing he'd thought about what he was going to say before getting up here, but judging by the pressure in his chest he wouldn't be capable of speech for too long. "She was really someone to look up to because of it. She's the one who taught me that we should protect what we feel strongly about and that learning to overcome hard things was key to surviving through the roughest times." He cleared his throat and brushed a hand over his eyes. "I'll admit when I was young, I was pretty scared of her. She _did_ present a pretty intimidating figure." There was a smattering of soft laughter at this. "But as I got older I realized she was simply someone who knew better than to back down. She was really brave. And even though she was always stern with me, she helped me become a better person. She taught me how to face my fears, and how to defend what was right. She – she took good care of me, and she was a really great role model, and I'm r-r-really gonna miss her."

Neville broke off, biting his lower lip as he fought the emotion welling in his chest. He practically staggered back to his seat and the moment he was down, Hannah had wrapped her arms around him. Neville leaned his head into her shoulder and drew in comfort from her embrace. He couldn't focus for the remainder of the funeral, and he was barely aware as a line of guests filtered by and repeated their condolences. The last of the guests were trickling away when his Great Uncle Algie came over.

"I found this on Augusta's writing desk," he said and he held a sheaf of folded parchment out. "It's a letter to you. It's not finished but I – I thought you might want it." Neville took the letter with a trembling hand, murmuring his thanks to his great uncle. He had written a letter to his Gran a few days after visiting his parents, telling her of his plans. With shaking fingers, he opened the parchment.

_Dear Neville,_

_It's about time you found yourself a lady. Your father was two years younger than you when he was married. Still, I suppose at least you've taken the time to find yourself a good girl. I know you must have plenty of girls after you, being a hero, and you've grown to be almost as dashing as your father was. When are you going to bring her over so I can meet her? I would like to know who you're marrying before you go and do it. Your parents would have been happy for you, and I am as well. But don't dally about asking her, because you know your father almost _

The letter ended there, but Neville didn't need to read about how his father had almost lost his chance because he'd hesitated and another man had nearly swept Alice away. No, he had read all that he needed to. Gran had given her approval, and even said that she was happy for him. Turning back to the burial spot, Neville took a deep breath and said, "Thanks, Gran."

Hannah didn't ask about the letter as he tucked it into his pocket, respecting his privacy, and when she took his arm they Disapparated.


	9. Visions of Family

The end of term had come and gone in a wave of euphoria that even managed to lift Neville's mood. He was sprawled on the floor of Hannah's living room, perusing a Herbology book, while Hannah sat next to him with parchment receipts spread across the sofa cushions. They were silent except for Hannah murmuring to herself, as she was prone to doing when concentrating, and Neville turning pages.

"This is impossible," said Hannah, dropping her quill and shaking her head. "I can't make out Lionel's handwriting. How am I supposed to tell how much money we're bringing in if I can't tell if this is a three or seven?"

"His threes look like sevens?" asked Neville curiously, looking up from his book. "Blimey, that _is_ odd." Hannah smiled and pushed away the papers, turning to look at him.

"So, eight days until your birthday," she said in an overly casual tone. "Are you going to tell me what you want or will I have to take a guess?"

Neville sighed and closed his book. "I've already told you, you don't need to get me anything for my birthday," he said firmly and slightly exasperatedly. She had been asking him what he wanted for his birthday since the first of the month and she did not seem to be listening every time he told her not to get him anything.

"And I told you not to get me anything, and how did that turn out?" asked Hannah and she glanced pointedly at the pretty glass flower sitting on her mantle that he had gotten her for her birthday the month before. Since Neville had no good counter to this argument, he settled for a dignified silence. "Well if you aren't going to tell me then I'll just have to pick it out myself and you can be surprised," said Hannah when she saw his resolute expression.

Neville knew what he'd really like for his birthday; he'd like the ring in his pocket to be on her finger. Gran's death had driven romance and his plans of proposal clean from his mind for several weeks. While he still visited Hannah as consistently as always, and the whole incident had brought them closer than ever, he had yet to actually ask her. The glumness that had followed his after the funeral had only just faded into the background, and now he was once again starting to feel that yearning in his chest to ask her. He had relied so heavily on her during the dark time that he had realized just how much he needed her in his life, and that warmth in his ribs that he associated with her was glowing stronger than ever.

"Oh quit being so stoic," said Hannah, laughing. "Alright, I'm through talking about your birthday. We can talk about something else." She moved closer to him and leaned against his side, resting one arm gently on his back and toying her fingers through his hair. "Are you sure you don't want to move into a room here at the inn?"

Neville laughed. This was another question he had heard a lot this month. He had rented a small flat in Hogsmeade for the summer break. Normally he would live with his gran for the two months, but, even though he had inherited her house, he felt no desire to live there alone so soon after her death. Hannah had offered to let him rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron, but Neville had turned her down; he was afraid she would charge him less than need be, or even offer him free rent, and he didn't want to feel like he was cheating.

"I need to be close to Hogwarts so I can go check the protective spells on my gardens in the mornings," said Neville, giving her the excuse he had come up with early on. It was true enough in essence, at least; he really did need to look after his plants in the mornings. "Besides," he continued, "if I was living here I might never be able to tear myself away from you and then I would get none of my summer work done. Remember, you're distracting."

Hannah laughed appreciatively. "Maybe, but you certainly help me get my work done," she said. Neville had taken to pitching in and helping around the inn when he was there during the daytime, to make her job easier. "And I like being able to see you so often. It'll be a shame when the term starts again and you have to go back to work."

"Don't start fretting about that already," said Neville, and he rolled over to look at her, propping himself up on his elbows. "We've still more than a month. I'll feel guilty if you start getting gloomy this soon."

"I'm sorry," said Hannah and she lay down, resting her head on his arm and curling close to his side. "But I'll miss you when I only get to see you a few times a month again." She shifted to press a kiss on his cheek and then nestled her head on his shoulder again. "I love you, Neville."

"I love you too," said Neville and he felt a sweeping warmth pass through him much as it did every time. The good setting had his hand inching toward his pocket. This could be his moment, the moment to finally ask her. His fingers found the little ring and he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger at his side where Hannah couldn't see, trying to build up his courage.

"Hannah," he started and she tilted her head so she could see his face. "I lo – OUCH!" Neville's hand shot back into his pocket and a second later he had pulled out a dull Galleon. It felt warm in his palm and there was a circle on his thigh that was still stinging from the burn. The serial number was displaying today's date, and he knew what it meant. There was only one other former D.A. member that still had their coin, and the pair of them used them to send important messages to each other. He had been expecting this particular message all week, although he was now cursing the bad timing that put it at this exact moment.

"Is that your D.A. coin?" asked Hannah curiously. Too stunned by the message the coin represented, Neville only nodded. "I didn't know they still worked. What does it mean?"

Neville finally managed to lift his gaze to Hannah's and in an awe-struck voice he said, "Ginny's having the baby."

For a moment, the pair only stared at each other in surprise, and then at the exact same moment they stood up. They both sought out their shoes and forced them on, and once they had met up in the middle of the room again, Hannah seized Neville's arm and he Apparated them to the walk of the Potters' house. Only seconds later they had reached the door and Neville knocked heavily.

"Neville, Hannah, you've made it," said a breathless Hermione as she opened the door and ushered them into the house. "C'mon, the others are all in the sitting room." She gestured for them to follow and they went down the hall and into a room opposite the grand room where they'd held the Christmas party.

The sitting room was packed; every seating place had been filled and there were people sitting on the arms of couches and even on the floor. The same glowing red hair was visible on most of the room's occupants, so that the few people who were not Weasleys stood out strongly. Andromeda Tonks, Arthur Weasley, and Fleur were sitting on the sofa, with Bill sitting on the arm beside his wife. Percy and George were in chairs facing each other, talking in low voices, while Angelina sat on the floor and kept an eye on the children. Her twins, Frederick and Roxanne, and little James Potter, were being entertained by Bill's daughter Victoire, and Harry's godson Teddy Lupin, whose hair was currently his favourite, electric blue.

"Hey, mate," said Ron. He and Harry were pacing back and forth past each other; Harry biting down on his knuckle and not looking up from the ground, and Ron holding his infant daughter, Rose, and trying to soothe her as she fussed. "I'd say pull yourself up a chair, but..." he said with a laugh, glancing around at the crowded room.

"No worries," said Neville, waving a hand. He sat down on the floor across from Angelina, and Hannah quickly sat down beside him, leaning into his side again.

"Unca Weh-vul," exclaimed James and he instantly raced over and fell into Neville's arms.

"Hey Jamie," said Neville as he straightened the toddler out so he was sitting upright on Neville's crossed legs. "Are you excited to be a brother?" James nodded so enthusiastically that he nearly fell over, and it managed to pull Harry from his pacing for the slightest moment as he gazed over at his son and smiled. Then a second later he was tracing the same line in front of the mantle and dragging his hand through his hair anxiously.

"He looks nervous," said Neville with a faint smile as Hermione sat down on his other side. "With all he's been through, you'd think nothing could make him nervous."

"He's doing a lot better than last time," said Hermione. "You weren't here, you should've seen him. Nearly tore his hair out when James was born, and he was so faint he kept falling down into chairs and then leaping right back up to pace again." She leaned closer and lowered her voice, and Neville thought he saw something mischievous in her smile. "I slipped a bit of Calming Draught in his tea; not enough that he'll notice, but it'll stop him from getting hysterical. I also cast a Muffliato charm on the upstairs room so he can't hear Ginny. I think that was got him the worst last time."

"Up there cursing a thousand words a second, I reckon," said Neville, casting an amused glance up at the ceiling.

"Well, it _is_ quite painful," said Hermione with an almost reproving look. "Even with magic. I'd like to see you try it."

"I'd rather not," said Neville quickly, hiding away his smile. He knew better than to get her on a feminist rant; they were just as impassioned as her lectures on house-elf rights, except these ones could actually make Neville feel guilty. "I'd thought Harry might be up there with her," he said, changing topics before Hermione could pick up any steam.

"No, just Molly and the midwife," said Hermione. "They thought Harry might well have a panic attack if he was in the room." The three adults looked over at where Harry was ruffling his hair so fiercely that it looked like there might be permanent damage to his scalp. "And they're probably right," she conceded. "Although he's keeping his head better than Ron did; he got a whole Calming Draught and still fainted."

The hours stretched by and the tension in the room grew with each minute. The groups shifted around to talk with others, all in the same hushed tones as if they were at someone's bedside. James had left Neville's lap, bored by the adults' conversation, to play with Teddy. A half hour later as the clock on the mantle tolled midnight, he climbed into Hannah's lap, yawning and rubbing his eyes. She seemed just as shocked by this as anyone, but she dutifully situated the drowsy boy and let him drift off curled into her chest.

From across the room, Neville took in the sight of her with her arms around James as she rocked slightly where she sat, holding a whispered conversation with Hermione over the top of his head. He had always known she was a very maternal person, but it amazed him how right it looked to see her that way. For a second he let himself imagine that she was rocking a little blonde child, with his round face and her wide, soft eyes. It was a pleasant image.

"You gonna ask her to marry you?"

Neville jumped at the whispered question and saw Ron standing by him, grinning and still cradling a sleeping Rose in his arms. "What do you mean?" asked Neville, trying to act calm while his heart was racing. He couldn't believe Ginny had told!

Ron raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Sure," he said sceptically. "Honestly, Neville, I may have, as Hermione so kindly says," he put on a lofty, high voice, "the emotional range of a bleedin' teaspoon," (Neville laughed as Ron rolled his eyes and resumed his normal tone), "but even I can tell you're a goner for her."

Neville shrugged in a noncommittal way. "I've thought about it," he said in as off-hand a voice as he could manage. Well, at least Ginny hadn't told them all.

"Ha, I knew it," said Ron, laughing. "I told Hermione you were planning it, but she wouldn't believe me. Like she knows what a man preparing to propose acts like, she never had any clue I was gonna ask her. Took her completely by surprise."

"That's not how she tells it," put in Neville in an amused tone.

"Well, she'd say that, wouldn't she?" said Ron, brushing aside the comment. "You know how proud she is." It had never failed to impress Neville just how thick the youngest Weasley brother could be when it came to his wife; even though everyone could see that Hermione held the upper hand, Ron was still quite convinced otherwise.

"Besides, she had a lot of rubbish arguments," Ron continued without noticing that Neville was trying very hard not to laugh at him. "Said that if you were going to ask, you'd have told us. Not ruddy likely, I said. I made the mistake of telling my family and they took the mick outta me so much I was too nervous to ask her. Had the ring almost two months before I finally did it. You got the ring yet? How long you had it?"

"Three months," said Neville awkwardly.

"Three months," repeated Ron. "What's taken you so – oh, your gran, right." Ron grimaced. "Sorry mate, I forgot."

Neville shrugged it away. "I was going to ask her tonight, but I sort of got interrupted by this whole thing," he said, waving a hand to signify the room at large.

"Damn kid just had to pop out now and ruin the moment, huh?" said Ron with another laugh. He raised his voice just slightly as Harry paced toward them. "Yeah, well, he _is_ a Potter; they are known for being trouble-causing prats."

"Oh sod off," snapped Harry, but his tone didn't sound all that angry. Neville could see he was fighting a smile as he turned on his heel and set off for the opposite end of the room again. A moment later the door opened and a middle-aged witch appeared, who Neville assumed must be the midwife.

"Harry," she said and Harry crossed the room so quickly he might have flown. He paused to scoop James, who had woken up at the door opening, out of Hannah's arms and then stepped past the witch, and could be heard running up the stairs, saying, "C'mon, James, let's go see your mum and little brother." James cheered sleepily.

"Everything went well," said the witch to the rest of the room. "You can all go up now so long as you don't cause too much ruckus." Neville thought this was a bit much to ask from the Weasleys but no one bothered to tell the witch as much. They all flew to their feet and began filtering past her, the sound of thunderous footfalls on the stairs impressively loud. Neville fought his way through the crowd to join Hannah and they trailed near the back of the group as they made their way upstairs and into a second floor bedroom.

Ginny was sitting up in bed, propped up on a mass of pillows. Her face was as red as her hair and she was sweating heavily, but there was a radiant smile on her face. Harry was at her side, holding James on his hip as they leaned close to look at the bundle of blankets in Ginny's arms. The rest of the crowd was forming a semi-circle around the bed and the excitement in the air was even more palpable than the previous tension downstairs had been.

"Let's see him then," said George loudly. Ginny obliged, tilting her arms just slightly and moving the blanket away from the baby's face. It looked much like Neville thought every baby did; all round and squishy and pink. However there was already a swatch of thin hair on his head that was jet black, and when he blinked at the large crowd they could see that his eyes were a bright, emerald green.

"Blimey, Harry, he looks just like you, this one," said Ron, laughing and shaking his head. "Too bad he couldn't wait a week more to be born, you'd have been twins."

"Except for the fact that we're twenty-five years apart, right?" Harry returned, but the sarcasm was daunted by the fact that he was beaming proudly. He reached out a hand to touch the baby's cheek. "Albus Severus Potter," he said in a dazed voice.

Neville fought back a shudder at the former Potions master's name; he knew that Snape had turned out to be a hero, but that didn't change the fact that he had been the terror of Neville's youth. Hannah seemed to notice this and she slipped an arm around him, giving him a comforting squeeze. Neville replied by wrapping his own arm around her waist and drawing her closer to his side.

The Potters presented a beautiful image to look at; Ginny with little Albus in her arms, stroking his cheek with a finger and smiling like the sun, while Harry hovered at her side with James on his hip, matching expressions of excitement and awe on their faces. As Neville watched them he felt Hannah pull her other arm around his middle and nestle her head against his ribs, and he knew more surely than ever before that the scene in front of him was the one he wanted to one day share with the woman at his side. And in the very same thought, he knew exactly how he wanted to ask her.


	10. Start of Term

Charring Cross Road was flooded with bright summery sunshine as Neville trudged down the Muggle street, his bag draped over his shoulder and his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. It was a warm Sunday in London and he had only Apparated halfway from St. Mungo's so he could take advantage of the good weather. It was now nearing suppertime and even from the end of the road he could see a fairly steady stream of people coming from and going to the Leaky Cauldron. A Muggle woman across the street kept shooting bemused glances at the robed figures who seemed to be appearing from nowhere, before shaking her head and walking very quickly away, muttering to herself.

Grinning, Neville stepped up to the door to the Leaky Cauldron, and then quickly sidestepped to avoid colliding with a tiny wizard carrying so many parcels his face was hidden from view. Once the little wizard had passed, Neville slipped into the pub and his eyes eagerly sought out the familiar blonde head.

"Hiya, Neville," said that bright voice and he spotted her handing out drinks at a table near the corner.

"Hey, Hannah," he said in return and moved around the room to wait for her at the bar. When she had finished with the drinks, she joined him and they exchanged their customary greeting. "Busy day, huh?" he asked, glancing around at the crowded room.

"Day before term always is," said Hannah, sighing and ducking behind the counter to grab another bottle of firewhiskey. "Everyone and their last minute shopping." Shaking her head, she wandered down to the end of the bar to refill a wizard's glass. Without hesitation, Neville walked over to a table of middle-aged witches and asked if he could help them. He had spent enough time helping out in the inn during the summertime that he was quite comfortable with it.

"A round of butterbeers," said a dark-haired witch brightly. She seemed to be eyeing him in a very eager way and Neville tried not to blush. He could feel her eyes on him the whole way back to the bar, and she was smiling as he returned and handed out the drinks. "Thanks, darling," the dark-haired witch cooed.

Neville grinned nervously and hurried back to the bar. Hannah looked up from filling out a ledger and smiled. "It seems like Rodenia fancies you," she remarked lightly but there was something teasing in her eyes. Neville glanced again at the table of witches and blushed to see the older woman still staring at him over the rim of her drink. Hannah followed his gaze and chuckled. "She'll be rather sorry to hear you're taken, won't she?" she asked and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

Feeling much better, Neville went back to helping out and when nine o'clock came the tavern had mostly emptied. They set about cleaning the room so they could retire into Hannah's flat. Neville polished the bar and looked over at Hannah, who was cleaning glasses on the other side. It occurred to him that this was almost exactly how they had first seen each other again, exactly one year ago.

Hannah looked much like she had that day. Her blonde hair, now slightly shorter, was still swept up into its customary, messy knot, and her eyes were as warm and comforting. Yet there was something in her gaze that seemed brighter and in her smile that seemed more genuine, and Neville found himself hoping that maybe he had been the one to put it there. He knew that his widened smile certainly came from her.

"What a day," said Hannah and she came to lean against the bar opposite him. "The day before term begins is nearly as bad as a holiday." Although she was still casual, Neville could see a familiar sadness that lit in her eyes every time she mentioned the beginning of term. Neville reached over to lay his hand on top of hers and she smiled, squeezing his fingers. "I cannot believe that the term has started again already. I will miss you being around so much."

"I'll still come to visit every time I can, you know that," said Neville assuredly. "Just like I did all last year. You'll be sick of me hanging around soon enough, don't you worry."

Hannah laughed and shook her head. "I find that doubtful," she said confidently. She walked around the bar and sat down on the stool next to him, intertwining their hands. "It seems so strange to think it was just a year ago, doesn't it?"

"A year ago today," agreed Neville. "A year ago when I came stumbling in here and sat down to wait for the fireplace to be free, and never expected anything amazing to happen."

Hannah blushed but continued calmly. "You ordered a butterbeer, and when I turned around I couldn't believe it was you. I hadn't seen you since we left school. You look so different, you know. Of course our last year we all looked rather awful, with everything that happened, so it's a good thing that we've changed really." She paused and her eyes scanned the narrow scars that stretched across his face.

"I hardly recognized you too," said Neville, smiling. "I gaped at you like an idiot for a while before it finally clicked." Hannah giggled, squeezing his hands again. Neville let his eyes drift over the now familiar details of her face, from the almost invisible scar beneath her lip to the band of pale freckles that crossed her nose. "You are beautiful."

"So you tell me," said Hannah modestly, even though her cheeks had darkened again. "Quite often."

Smiling, Neville picked up the thread again. "We stayed up half the night talking," he said. "About everything; school, work, our families, our friends. It was amazing. I had never felt so comfortable talking to someone before."

"I hugged you as you left and you looked so surprised," said Hannah with a laugh.

"Well it was so fast," he pointed out defensively. "It took a second to even figure out what had happened, you were so quick about it."

"I was afraid when you left that you wouldn't really come back," confessed Hannah and Neville's eyes widened. She'd never told him this before. "I knew you were busy and likely wouldn't have time to come back just for a chat, but for days I was glancing over at the fireplace every time someone Flooed in, hoping it was you. I had almost given up hope when you finally showed up."

"The first week of term is a nightmare," said Neville. "Especially for Head of Houses. I had planned to visit twice before I made it, but I got trapped with one thing or another. And I was afraid that maybe your invitation had just been politeness, and that you weren't really expecting me to come." He paused thoughtfully, remembering the nerves he'd felt the first time he'd Flooed back to London, and he realized they were nothing compared to the fluttery feeling in his stomach now. "In the end though, I figured it was a risk worth taking. I hadn't been able to get you out of my head the whole week."

Hannah smiled and they sat in a warm, comfortable silence. "When did you fall in love with me?" she asked abruptly.

Neville opened his mouth before realizing he wasn't quite sure of the answer. "I don't really know," he admitted. "I first realized it that night we were sitting in your flat trading cards."

"Eating our way through all those Chocolate Frogs," Hannah put in, grinning broadly.

"That's the one," said Neville with a nod. "But when I started thinking about it, trying to figure out when it had happened, I couldn't tell. I tried to think back to a time when I hadn't felt that way and I couldn't." He blushed scarlet, but pressed on bravely. "The way I felt for you, it felt so natural and right that I was sure it must have been there all along."

If he had thought Hannah was smiling before, it was nothing compared to the dazzling look she had now. It was as if the sun had risen behind her face, turning her cheeks bright rose and making her eyes sparkle like stars. Feeling warmth rushing through his veins, as if the brightness of her face had sparked a fire in his gut, Neville took a deep breath.

"Hannah," he started and grimaced as his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "The truth is, I think I might have been in love with you that very first day and I just didn't know it. When I think about it now, I can't imagine you ever not being there by me. I know that it'll be difficult, with both of our works being so demanding, but I want to do everything to make it work because it's worth it to feel like this for the rest of my life. I lo – oh bloody hell!"

Neville had tried to slip the ring from his pocket, but his sweaty fingers had fumbled and the ring fell to the floor, clinking brightly as it bounced before settling on the wood. Quickly, his face and neck burning worse than ever before, he knelt down and picked it up. Staying on his knees, he looked up at Hannah's awe-struck face.

"I love you, Hannah, and I want to be with you the rest of my life," he said, and the truthfulness of it lent his voice enough confidence to not tremble even though he was shaking nervously. He held out the ring between his thumb and forefinger, the diamond blinked in the lamplight. "Will you marry me?"

Hannah stared at him, her eyes wide and her mouth half-opened in shock, and her hands came up to cover her mouth before they slipped down to hover in front of her collar, as if she was too surprised to hold them in place. For a moment Neville felt a bout of nerves sweep through him and nausea rose in his stomach. Had he judged her feelings wrong? Had he said something wrong? He knew some of it had been a bit cliché but he didn't think it was that bad. Maybe he had done it too soon. They had only been seeing each other a year. Did people generally wait longer than that? Why hadn't he asked one of his mates for advice on things like this? Or had it been bad timing? It might have been a horrible idea asking for her hand the day before he left to go back to Hogwarts for ten months. The idea of their one year anniversary had seemed like a good choice at first, but now he thought maybe it had been foolish.

Then suddenly Hannah's eyes were bright with tears and her face split into a bright smile. "Yes," she said, her voice thick and shaking but confident. She nodded vigorously. "Yes, I'll marry you."

Now it was Neville's turn to gape in surprise. There was a rise of heat in his stomach and he suddenly felt as though his limbs had been electrocuted. He had just proposed, and she had said yes. A bemused smile cut across Neville's face as he met her gaze. "Brilliant," he said, breathlessly. He held out his right hand and she delicately set her left hand on his palm. With a slow deliberation, as if one wrong move might cause the whole world to shatter, Neville slipped the little golden circle around her third finger. It sat there as if it had been made for her.

Still trembling, although now with something besides nerves, Neville climbed back to his feet, never taking his eyes off Hannah's. _His_ Hannah. Another surge of electricity charged through him and Neville smiled so widely he thought his face may split in two. And, in one of those glorious moments of undaunted courage, he took her face in his hands and kissed her with a happiness and passion and love he had never known he could possess.

Hannah slid her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, and suddenly everything in the world was right. Worry and fear and pain were gone and all he knew was the blissful beauty of this moment. After so many dark things, Neville had found something wonderful and his life seemed to lie out before him perfectly. They would marry and he would wake in the mornings to see her by his side, and eventually they would have children and raise them up together, and when they were old and retired they would dote on their grandchildren and live together until they died.

Nothing could be more right.


	11. The Wedding

"Alright there, Neville?"

Neville jumped at the voice and turned around to see Harry standing behind him, hands in the pockets of his dress robes. The green eyed man was grinning, but in more of a knowing than mocking way.

"Yeah," said Neville, grimacing as his voice croaked and he quickly cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine." His gaze slipped back to the window he'd been staring out previously, where the yard and the giant white marquee were visible. He could see a faint trickling of people slipping into the tent, their dress robes standing out boldly against the white backdrop. His stomach churned and he swallowed hard.

"It's normal to be nervous, you know," said Harry. Neville glanced over his shoulder but Harry was no longer looking at him, sitting on a chair and rubbing a scuff off the toe of his shoe. "I was a bloody wreck, and that's nothing on how Ron was. You know how well he does at keeping his head under pressure." Harry laughed and looked up to see Neville's wan smile. "It'll be fine."

Neville nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. He glanced into the mirror over the mantle and saw that his collar had curled again, and desperately began trying to flatten it. Harry was right, things would be fine. He was nervous, but he just had to keep his cool and things would work out. If only he could get his nerves under control.

"That'll never work, dear," the mirror said in a wheezy voice. For a moment Neville thought it had been talking to him, but then he glanced up and saw that Harry was also facing the mirror, casually trying to flatten his hair.

"I know, I know," said Harry, shaking his head and giving up on his lost cause. He caught Neville looking out the window again and came to stand beside him, watching the last of the line filtering in. "This waiting is the worst part," said Harry nonchalantly, tucking his hands into his pockets again. "It all gets better once you actually get in there. Trust me. Right now, this standing around waiting for it to start, this is the part where all the doubts pop up. Do I really want to do this? Is it the right choice? Am I really ready?"

Without realizing it, Neville nodded. Those were exactly the sort of things he'd been thinking all morning. His stomach twisted uncomfortably again and he felt faintly sick.

"But you tough it out through that part, and you get in there and see all those people who've come out to see you," continued Harry, still not looking at him and acting as casual and cool as always. "That'll make it a little better, but you'll still be wondering if you made the right choice. What if all those people came to support you, and you've made a mistake?" Neville swallowed again, wiping his sweaty palms on the insides of his pockets.

"And then she'll walk in." There was a note of reverence in Harry's voice now, and when Neville glanced sideways at him he saw that those green eyes had gone unfocused, seeing something that wasn't there. "You'll see her standing there, and the rest of the world will vanish. All you'll know is her and you and your happiness. And that – well, that's when you'll know more certainly than ever that you've made the right decision." Harry finally looked over and met Neville's gaze, and he smiled reassuringly. "You just wait, you'll see what I mean."

Neville surveyed Harry's perfectly confident expression and couldn't help but feel slightly comforted. "You think this is right, don't you?" asked Neville nervously. He wasn't prone to asking opinions about aspects of his personal life, but of all his mates he knew that Harry would be the one to give him a truly honest answer in such a serious time.

Harry looked thoughtful, apparently thinking over his words hard, before he answered. "Honestly, Nev, I don't think anyone can give you that answer but you," said Harry slowly. "But if you want to know what I really think, well, I can see what she does to you. You got really self-conscious again after the war, which was a bit of a shame if you ask me. You were still so much more confident than you used to be, but you weren't that bloke that ran the rebellion against the Death Eaters anymore. And then she came along, and all of a sudden I'm seeing that guy again, but better because instead of that grim determination pushing you, there's something more. She does you good, Neville. She makes you the biggest Gryffindor of us all."

Neville cleared his throat awkwardly, aware that his eyes had started burning, and Harry turned rather obviously to readjust the silver flower in his buttonhole so Neville could wipe his eyes on the back of his sleeve. "Thanks," said Neville, and Harry turned back to him with a grin.

"That's what I'm here for, mate," said Harry and he clapped him on the shoulder. Neville was quite suddenly grateful that he had agreed when Harry had offered to be the best man. All of Neville's closest friends were girls; Ginny, Luna, Hermione, and Hannah. He had guy friends, he just wasn't quite as close to them as the girls. Ever since the D.A. in their fifth year, Neville and Harry had gotten on better, but it wasn't until after they left school that they really became close friends. Neville saw that Harry finally respected him in the way that he had always respected the other, and now there was no contest that Harry was the guy he was closest to. It seemed that their similarities had paid off because in this time of need Harry had known exactly how to relax him.

"Boys." Neville and Harry both looked up and saw Ginny standing on the stair, one hand clutching the rail and the other resting on her once again large belly. "We're ready up here if you'll head outside so we can get a move on." Neville nodded stiffly as Harry began steering him out the door. "Oh and Neville," said Ginny. "You look dashing."

Neville smiled back at his best friend, the closest to a genuine smile he had worn all day. "Thanks, Gin," he said. She turned and started up the stairs again and Neville let Harry propel him through the door.

The back garden at the Burrow had been transformed and the hot July sunset was glaring down onto the white marquee. Strings of fairy lights were hung around the yard, waiting for darkness to come so they could cast their multi-coloured glow. Through the opening in the tent, Neville could make out rows of people sitting on silvery chairs, all facing the empty front. The two men moved around to the side of the tent, where a narrow flap would allow them to step up straight to the platform.

"Alright," said Neville, taking a deep breath and straightening out his dress robes one last time. "Let's do this."

"Good luck, mate," said Harry. Together they went through the side and climbed onto the low, silver stage. Neville could barely focus, standing up in front of the crowd. This all seemed to have come frighteningly fast. It seemed like so much less than ten months ago that he had gotten down on one knee, after dropping the ring of course, and asked Hannah to marry him. The school year had been a wildly busy one, between his classes and Head of House duties and planning for a wedding. They had settled on early July, so they could enjoy their summer together as newlyweds before he had to go back to Hogwarts.

Since he had been so busy, Ginny had willingly chipped in to help Hannah with the plans, which was why the wedding was taking place at the Burrow. Besides, after Molly had offered he hadn't had it in him to turn her down, nor did he have much reason to. His friendship with Ginny had resulted in him practically being adopted into the Weasleys despite not actually being related to them in anyway, except that his Gran had been Mrs. Weasley's third cousin, six times removed, or something of the like. It had been a whirlwind ten months, and it didn't feel possible that he was already here.

His eyes panned out over the small crowd in the marquee. He saw all of the Weasleys, Mrs. Weasley crying as much as she had at her own children's weddings, and his Uncle Algie and Auntie Enid. Beside his great aunt and uncle at the head of the aisle were the three empty seats he had requested be saved for his parents and Gran, the only real demand he had made for the wedding plans and one that everyone else had unanimously agreed to. His old dormmates, Dean and Seamus, who had Lavender on his arm, were a few rows back and both grinned at him. Farther back he saw the aged Professor Sprout, who smiled at him proudly, and beside her was Headmistress McGonagall, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. On the other side of the marquee Neville recognized a couple Hufflepuffs from his year; Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchly, and a girl he knew by sight but not by name.

Ginny slipped into the tent as inconspicuously as she could while holding Albus on her hip and keeping a firm hold on James' hand, who looked distinctly grumpy at having to wear dress robes. She shot a reassuring smile at Neville as she settled into a chair at the back. A second later music began to swell from the stage, although Neville couldn't place just where, and it started so abruptly that he jumped. A new wave of panic swept into him. This was it. He felt faint and it wasn't until Harry murmured, "Breathe, Nev," from behind him that he realized why. Several deep breaths cleared his head slightly, but not his nerves.

Two women walked into the tent in dresses of a pretty, pale green. Susan Bones was looking a little flustered at the attention, but not as much as Hermione. Neville knew Hermione had been getting increasingly more frantic about appearing as a bridesmaid, especially since she was three months pregnant, but as Neville looked at her he saw that it was a wasted worry since it was impossible to even tell. They walked up to the stage and stood opposite Neville, and Hermione gave him a reassuring smile much like Ginny's before her gaze turned back to the tent opening.

Taking a steadying breath, Neville followed her gaze. Quite suddenly he forgot where he was and what was going on. All he could see was a beautiful figure in white. Her hair had been curled back into a sort of knob with twisting tendrils still escaping down the back of her neck. The knob had been decorated with miniature silver flowers and gleaming opals that reflected the fairy-lights in pretty little rainbows. Her dress was simple but so resplendently white that the rest of the world seemed to dim. She looked up at him with wide, blue eyes and when she smiled every bit of doubt that had been choking his heart vanished without a trace.

"Told you so," Harry murmured in his ear and Neville almost laughed. The music was still playing and Hannah moved up the aisle on her father's arm. Hannah's journey up the aisle seemed both agonizingly long and mercifully short at the same time and it was only a lifetime and a moment later when Mr. Abbott was handing Neville his daughter's hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the tall, wizened ministry wizard said, stepping up to stand where he could be seen between Neville and Hannah. "Today we gather here to celebrate a union..." Neville wasn't paying attention to what the wizard was saying as he took in the sight of his bride. Hannah blushed, looking slightly nervous as well, but she returned his smile in earnest.

"Neville Ferdinand Longbottom, do you take..."

Neville never took his eyes off Hannah as he waited for the wizard's sentence to end, and he replied instantly, "I do."

"Hannah Carison Abbott, do you take..."

There was a long moment in which Neville didn't breathe as the wizard finished his sentence. Hannah squeezed his hand before saying, "I do."

The next part of the wizard's speech was lost as Neville exhaled and he felt a great rushing in his stomach. They had done it, exchanged their vows. It seemed like a split second later when the wizard said, "...and I proclaim you bonded for life," and waved his wand over their heads, showering them in silvery sparkles. Without waiting for any further prompting, Neville leaned forward and kissed Hannah.

Applause broke out in the crowd, and Neville heard someone wolf-whistling when he finally pulled away. His eyes found Hannah's again and there were tears glittering at the corners, but he wasn't afraid because he could see her smile and it was more wonderful and beautiful than he had ever seen before. They were tears of happiness, much like those burning at the inner corners of his own eyes that he was fighting. Hannah squeezed his hand more tightly and he could feel the smooth contours of the narrow golden bands around her finger. "I love you."

Neville stared back at her. His Hannah, his girlfriend, his love, his fiancée – and now, finally, his _wife_. His heart swelled to the point where he was sure he would not be able to contain it any longer. "I love you." And he did; he had never been more sure of anything in his lifetime. He loved her, and she loved him, and now they could spend their lives together in love. That thought filled Neville with so much strength that, for the first time in his life, he truly felt like a Gryffindor. His Hannah was his heart, and his heart was his courage.

And now that he had that, he was ready for anything.


	12. Epilogue: Twelve Years Later

AN: So I wrote this epilogue ages and ages ago, shortly after finishing this story - because I suddenly understood why JK had such a hard time just ending the story knowing what more came after - and then promptly lost it among my things. I didn't have the heart to try and rewrite it, so I simply kept on the lookout for it and vowed I'd get it up eventually. Then while packing my things to move to my new flat, I found it tucked away in an old writing folder, so I've decided to share it with you all now. I actually have a basic storyline I could follow if I get the time to write a sequel, but I've got other projects to finish first, including my other Neville-centric story "Firsts." (yeah, I know, shameless plug.)

But here is the epilogue of "Courage of the Heart." I hope you all enjoy.

* * *

Epilogue - 12 Years Later

Beyond the brick wall that divided platforms nine and ten, the scarlet steam engine sat blowing clouds of smoke onto the platform. It was already crowded with large clusters of families and the noise was remarkable. Owls swooped through the air, appearing and then seeming to melt into the blackness like ghosts. Cats speckled the concrete, some of them lazily cleaning their fur or sleeping while others curiously inspected their neighbours. Children were hanging out of the train windows to talk to people waiting on the platform, most still dressed in Muggle clothes, some rather unconvincingly, and others had already changed into their black school robes so that they blended more smoothly with the sooty air.

It was a familiar sight and Neville Longbottom drank it in as he stepped through the brick wall, one hand pushing a trolley and the other clutching the hand of a little girl. Platform Nine and Three Quarters was an iconic piece of his history, the place where he had boarded the train at the start of every school year as a youth and disembarked at the end, and now it was the place where his children would start their own chapters at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Blimey," the little girl at his side said excitedly as she caught sight of the train. Neville smiled fondly at her, but was interrupted from answering as a young boy appeared behind him, pushing a trolley as well, and behind him came Hannah Longbottom, holding the hands of two younger children.

"This place seems to get more crowded every year," said Hannah and their group quickly shuffled forward as another family materialized through the wall behind them.

Twelve-year-old Damien Francis took one glance at his younger sister's face and grinned. "Can't tell Annie's excited," he said, a bit sarcastically, and shook his rather shaggy dirty blonde hair out of his face.

"Oh sod off," eleven-year-old AnnaMarie Alice shot back playfully. Neville wasn't worried about there being any fight behind the words. The pair was the closest in age of his children, only fourteen months, and had been practically inseparable for most of their lives, having many of the same friends. The last year had been hard on her, with her brother and several of her friends gone away to school without her, but now she was starting her first year and even more excited to go than Neville ever remembered being.

"Alright, you two," said Hannah, somewhere between exasperated and amused. "Let's get your trunks onto the train and then we'll see if we can find any of the others." Neville helped both of his oldest children load their trunks into an empty carriage and just as they had stepped back out onto the platform Hannah had pointed toward a group not far from them. "Look Neville," she said, "there's Harry and Ginny."

At the sound of his name, Harry glanced around and when he spotted them he smiled. He tapped Ginny on the shoulder and pointed, and a moment later their families had joined up on the platform. They exchanged enthusiastic greetings, especially between Lily Potter, Damien and AnnaMarie, who were all separated by only a year each and had grown up as best friends.

"Second one off to Hogwarts, huh?" said Harry, grinning down at AnnaMarie before looking back up at Neville. "Not quite as hard as the first one, although she is your first little girl to go away."

Neville just laughed. "It's not quite so hard on me, mate," he pointed out, and it seemed in that moment Harry had realized the same thing because he laughed. "I'm there with 'em, aren't I? Of course it embarrassed Damien, having his dad lurking over his shoulder the whole time." Neville nudged Damien, who just shrugged and didn't look bothered in the slightest.

"Not me," said AnnaMarie quickly. "I'm excited to spend so much time with Daddy." She beamed up at her father proudly and Neville felt the same familiar pride swell in his chest. While he had quickly grown sick of people on the street recognizing him and calling him a hero, it was entirely different when his little girl was telling her friends that her daddy was Neville Longbottom, the hero from The War. AnnaMarie almost idolized him, and Neville had no qualms about being someone his daughter could look up to.

"Heya," said a familiar redheaded man, appearing at Harry's side. Ron Weasley had an arm around Hermione's waist and his children quickly joined up with the cluster of Potters and Longbottoms. Neville happened to look over just in time to catch AnnaMarie staring at Hugo Weasley and then promptly turning red in the cheeks, and Neville felt a lurch in his stomach like missing a step going down stairs. _Oh no, not yet, not my little girl interested in boys already, _he thought nervously. He was feeling old enough knowing she was starting school now, there was no need to add boys into the mix so soon.

"You know this group is getting so ruddy large you folks are gonna force everyone else off the platform," remarked George Weasley, joining them with his own family. However they didn't have much more time to expand their group as the ten-minute whistle sounded from the train and everyone quickly began loading children and trunks alike onto the train.

"When can I go, mum?" nine-year-old Emily Susan asked, looking hopefully at the train.

"Not for a few more years, honey," answered Hannah, wrapping a comforting arm around her youngest daughter. Six-year-old Matthew Colin was clinging to his mother's hand silently, looking up at the steam engine with both eagerness and fear. Of all his children, Matthew was the one who reminded Neville most of himself as a child, although he hoped that Matt might grow into the confidence his other children had picked up on.

Families up and down the platform were saying their farewells. As Hannah hugged both of her children good-bye, Neville could tell she was trying not to cry. He felt bad for her; the term was always harder on her than him, because he still saw his kids nearly every day while she was limited to holidays. Damien gave his father a hug before slipping onto the train, already deep in conversation with Lily. AnnaMarie gave her father a huge grin before throwing herself into his arms.

"Hey, you don't have to say such a big good-bye," reminded Neville, despite the fact that he was hugging her so fiercely he nearly lifted her from the ground. "I'll see you in just a few hours."

"Can't I just come with you?" asked AnnaMarie.

Neville laughed. "No, honey, trust me, you'll want to go on the train. That's half the fun. Are you nervous?"

AnnaMarie shook her head, her expression still bright as always. "No," she said calmly, shrugging. "I already know I'm a Gryffindor, just like you."

Neville smiled and pressed a quick kiss onto her brow. "That you are, Annie," he agreed. AnnaMarie hugged both of her younger siblings, gave Hannah another, longer hug, and then jumped onto the train just as the whistle screamed.

As the compartment doors began closing, Neville slipped an arm around Hannah's waist. Together they watched as Damien and AnnaMarie both leaned out of a window and waved while the train pulled away. Even though Neville knew that he would be seeing them both again in only a matter of hours, there was something heartbreaking in watching his two oldest zooming out of sight on that scarlet steam engine. He knew it must be how every other parent on the platform was feeling, and Neville drew Hannah closer to his side and placed a hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"We're having a lunch at the Burrow again," said Harry. The families around them had already begun slowly trickling back toward the barrier wall. "For all of us left home for the term. And you, Neville, even though you're going back to school."

"Thanks, Harry," said Neville. He and Hannah had gone last year too after they'd had to watch their first child go away to school, and Neville knew it helped his wife to know she wasn't the only one losing her children for three-quarters of the year.

"Oh and Teddy and Victoire will be there," added Harry suddenly and his grin widened. "It'll be the first time you've seen them since they got engaged, won't it?"

"Looks like he's really gonna be part of the family now," said Neville with a laugh. "Alright, we'll see you there." Harry and Ginny Disapparated, and after the Longbottoms slipped out of the platform into the Muggle world, they took a Muggle cab back to Charring Cross Road. The Leaky Cauldron was far emptier today than it had been the day before, and Lionel waved at them from the bar before turning his attention back to the pretty dark-haired witch he was chatting up.

Hannah crossed to the fire and tossed in a bit of Floo powder. Most of the other guests would have been arriving by Apparition, like Harry and Ginny had gone, but since Neville still had children to take with him they felt it was easier to just Floo than to bother with side-along Apparition, especially since Hannah had never really gotten the hang of it and didn't like to Apparate without Neville if she could avoid it. One by one the Longbottoms stepped into the fire, shouting "The Burrow," and were sucked up the chimney.

Neville was the last to go, and when he staggered out of the fireplace at the Burrow, knocking his head against the mantle, he saw that the living room was already rather crowded. The bright red of every Weasley from his generation was there with their spouses. The three children who were yet too young for Hogwarts had already slipped out into the back garden visible through the window, including Neville's own two as well as Percy's youngest daughter, Lucy. Teddy Lupin, highly conspicuous with his favourite electric blue hair, was standing to one side with an extremely happy Victoire Weasley in his arm.

The family accepted Neville and Hannah into their conversations as if they were Weasleys as well, and it was only when Molly Weasley, her hair now liberally streaked with gray, announced that she was going in to start dinner, that Neville realized it was starting to get dark outside.

"Oh sorry folks, I really gotta go," said Neville in the middle of their conversation about the Quidditch league. "I'm supposed to be up at the school already." It took nearly ten minutes to say good-bye to everyone, and Hannah pulled him aside to say a more private farewell. "I'll sneak home at least one night this week," he promised, "and I'll be home this weekend so long as nothing comes up."

"Keep an eye on the kids," said Hannah. "And tell them I love them and I expect letters." Neville smiled and kissed her once more before he went over to the place where his children were now playing on the stairs with Lucy.

"Alright kids, I've got to go to work," he said and in an instant both Emily and Matthew were wrapped around his waist. "Listen to your mum, and no causing trouble just so I'll come home and punish you."

"That was Annie's idea," replied Emily with a quiet giggle.

"I know, but no getting ideas from her," said Neville, brushing his youngest daughter's bangs out of her eyes so he could see the pale blue that was identical in all his children.

"When will you be home, da?" asked Matthew in that same quiet, glum voice that reminded Neville so much of himself thirty years ago.

"I'll come home as often as I can, I promise," said Neville assuredly, making sure to meet Matthew's eyes as he said it. "I won't be gone long enough for you to miss me, okay?" Both children hugged him tightly again and Neville wound his arms around them, drawing on this moment of closeness to last him for the next few days. As much as he loved his job, he hated being away from his family. Having this big family was everything he had dreamed about as a young child, alone with his older relatives.

"Okay, I've gotta go now or else I'll be in trouble," said Neville and he carefully extracted himself from his kids' arms. He kissed them both and they called out one more farewell as he moved back to the fireplace. Hannah seized him and kissed him soundly once more, earning them a few wolf whistles from the watching Weasleys, namely George and Ron, and then Neville stepped into the fireplace and the domestic scene was quickly swept from his view and, after a swirl of flickering green flames, replaced with his office.

Neville had barely had time to stumble out of the grate when there was a knock on his office door. Opening it, Neville saw Headmistress McGonagall standing on the other side, looking as prim as always. "Oh good, you are here," she said and then her eyes took in his sooty Muggle clothes. "Although it looks like only just."

"Yeah, sorry, Professor," said Neville hastily. "I got a side-tracked with the family. I'll just change and be down in a moment."

"Hurry," said McGonagall firmly, although he thought there might have been a bit of a smile on her thin lips. "The train's just pulled into the station, so the students will be here soon." With this she turned and walked back down the corridor. Neville shut the door and hurried into his chambers, changing out of his dirty clothes and into a pair of simple black robes. Once he'd checked the mirror to see that he didn't look a total mess, he headed down to the entrance hall.

It had only been a few minutes when the loud knock came on the double doors. Neville walked forward and hauled the doors open to let in the night. Hagrid was standing there, looking exactly the same as Neville remembered from when he was a student except for maybe a few extra wrinkles around his beetle-black eyes, and a cluster of shaking little kids stood behind him in their new school robes, almost all of them gazing up at the school in awe and nerves.

"The firs' years, Professor," Hagrid said, tipping Neville a quick wink.

"Thanks, Hagrid, I'll take them from here," Neville replied. "First years, follow me." With that he turned on his heel and led the little group through the entrance hall to a side room. With quick instructions to wait for him there, he went back out into the entrance hall.

"Sure like scarin' them li'l things, doncha?" Hagrid asked with a quiet chuckle.

Neville grinned and shrugged. "It's all part of the experience."

Hagrid laughed again and shook his head. "That li'l girl of yers is a whirlwind," he said. "Got yer hands full wit' her. Smart as a sphinx, she is."

Neville snorted. "And as devilish as a pixie," he said. "Just you wait."

Their conversation was interrupted as the older students started filtering into the entrance hall. Hagrid went into the Great Hall ahead of them, while Neville stood and kept watch on the other students. Several of them said hello to him on their way past. Damien called out a "Heya, dad," as he walked in, and then went back to the conversation he was having with Lily and a Ravenclaw student who Neville knew to be the daughter of Terry and Paravati Boot.

Once he'd seen the last of the students through, he got a nod of affirmation from Professor McGonagall and went to retrieve the first years. As he opened the door he distinctly heard AnnaMarie's voice say, "My brother said we gotta Stun a dragon." Neville bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. He remembered, as if from a lifetime ago, standing in that same little room waiting for his own Sorting and listening to similar stories; Hermione rambling on about all the spells she'd learned, Ron saying how his brothers had said something about wrestling trolls, Ernie MacMillan talking about having to duel each other. He also made a mental note to talk to his son later about terrifying his little sister with tales about dragons.

"First years," Neville said. A silence swept over the room like Neville had cast a Muffling Charm. "Follow me for the Sorting Ceremony. Into a queue now, all of you. Single file." Once the students had lined up into a queue he led them into the Great Hall. The four tables of students peered curiously at the newcomers, while the first years seemed more interested in the extravagant hall. Neville glanced up at the ceiling, which was his favourite shade of deep violet, speckled with stars.

As Neville took his place in front of the students, preparing for the Sorting Ceremony, he felt a sort of contentment wash over him. He had found his place, here in the school where all of the pivotal moments of his childhood had occurred. From the Gryffindor table he could see Damien give him a quick grin, and he could make out AnnaMarie's eager face among the crowd of first years. This was where he belonged.

And all was well.


End file.
